


Ice Bridge

by Turtle_ier



Series: Something Else is Out There [3]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bittersweet, Blood, Blood and Injury, Dark Fantasy, Families of Choice, Family, Family Feels, Fantasy, Feels, Found Family, Getting to Know Each Other, Hopeful Ending, Injury, Lies, M/M, Major Character Injury, Minor Character Death, Mystery, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Alternating, Reincarnation, Survival Horror, Suspense, Suspicions, Wilderness Survival, realistic minecraft au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:55:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 48,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27609311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Turtle_ier/pseuds/Turtle_ier
Summary: After Dream's disappearance, the settlement is left fractured and they are forced to make a decision - to try and change it or let it ruin them. As George sets about finding Dream once more and the others begin the preparations for winter, tensions flare between members of the group. Everyone has a different opinion, a different goal, and it becomes a battle of wills to see who will succeed and who will fail.(the other works in the series should be read before this one)
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Dave | Technoblade & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF)
Series: Something Else is Out There [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1969750
Comments: 59
Kudos: 124





	1. Introduction: Looking Glass

The Over-world, _Other-world_ and **Darkness** stood over a watery pool of light. 

_When shall we three meet again, in light, darkness or in rain?_

Our presence here is thinning, distorted, and I’m afraid, sisters, that we may not have much time left.

**Should I announce it?**

No, not yet. It’s too early yet.

_What is that one doing?_

Who? Which?

**The one you two made.**

It is discontent, it seems. It’s running away.

**How odd. It was lonely for so long.**

I suppose it’s just how it chooses to live. 

What will its friends think?

Never mind that, it’s not your business. What is left on the list? What else is there to do?

_We need to announce the end._

**Should I – ?**

No, It’s too early.

_Have patience._

**So easy for you to say. You’re permanent.**

As are you.

**Not in the way that matters. I live in your shadows.**

_You don't live in mine._

No sun, no shadow.

**That’s true**. 

_We must also begin detangling._

**Gosh, detangling always takes an age.**

_Have patience._

**Has your moon appeared?**

Not yet.

**Soon?**

Soon.

_What is the last task?_

**We must decide: when shall we three meet again?**


	2. Chapter 1: In Your Own Words

_Dear George,_

_I’m sorry._

_Everything is weird and strange, and I’m sorry that I am untrustworthy. Your friends love you, and I love you, but your friends and I don't love each other. I’m sorry that I didn't tell you about this, and I’m sorry that I wouldn’t tell you even if your friends liked me. I think your friends are right to distrust me, considering the hell the other tree-people put you (us, I suppose) through. Please don't let them feel bad._

_I want your friends to like me, and I do like your friends. Sapnap is smart, he taught me things about tying knots and how to live with humans. I liked Techno, he was so interesting, and I’d never met a half-druid before. He seems really brave._

_And even though I have only known Niki, Fundy, all the others for a little bit, they seem really cool too. I’m sorry that they don't think I'm nice as well._

_I have to tell you, I’m not leaving because of them not trusting me. I’m not leaving because of the way I was treated. You treated me well. They treated well, too, even if they didn't want to._

_I’m leaving because I have questions. Why did the other tree-people seem like such complete and real beings to you, when I don't remember being so complete? Where did I come from? I only remember appearing, watching myself, and then nothing before it. Something tells me that there isn't much time left to find out._

_Have you noticed the moon? I’m sure you have, but have you seen it recently? This whole year, her faces haven't changed. There has been no full moon, or waning gibbous, or third or first quarter. It’s only been a waning crescent the first night here, and since, it’s been new. The new moon has been here for days on end, and I think it means something. I think it means something to do with there being more of my species (if they are the same as me – it's hard to think about it like that) or with the portal. The portal looked like a moon. I don't want to look at it, and I know you and none of your friends do either, but it looked like a moon, a dish, levitating._

_If you don't remember, trust me. It looked like a milk cookie._

_I’m not sure how it relates, and I’m not sure if it means anything at all. For all I know, this world is just a bit weird in general, or maybe it’s just me being paranoid. I don't want to drag you or anyone else into unknown things, and I don't want to upset you by leaving, but George, please understand, there may only be a certain amount of time to know._

_The other-world might be behind us now, but the cookie-portal is still there and it looked like the tower containing it had different branches, like in the middle there was other stuff, waiting, just there to be searched or taken. When I was there it all felt so familiar, like I had been in this world before, but I didn't remember anything for certain. It could have been any of the thousand worlds I’ve been through, but it might not. I want to know, the urge to find out is stronger than the urge to stay safe._

_George, the thing is, I don't remember much. I don't remember much about me before I became me, or when I wasn't me but two ‘me’s. It’s worrying. Wilbur only remembers his past when he was human, but I don't remember much of anything at all. Did the human-me actually replace the mind of the tree-me? It doesn't feel like it. I need time to think about it._

_Did the human-me ever exist in me at all? Was tree-me ever incomplete?_

_I’m sorry George, but I have no idea what I am. I don't think I lied to you, way back when I told you about what I was, and what the other-you was, but I just don't know._

_Where did I come from? What am I?_

_If our roles were reversed, and if you were asking those same questions, I wouldn't blame you for taking action, and I wouldn't blame you for wanting to leave others behind while you did it. The self is a delicate thing, even if us tree-people are supposed to be hardy and more difficult to kill (at least, that’s what you said the other-Sapnap said, right?), but the only way to make ourselves stronger is to expose ourselves to the unknown. The only way to defeat the unexpected is to face it. You can't run away from thoughts or feelings forever, even if I wish it was true that you could._

_We’re all soft things, delicate like I said, and easily changed. Warped wood, pressed flowers, dried flax, or cotton. We can be changed, for better or for worse, and I hope this is for the better. The urge to know is stronger than the urge to stay here, in safety, comfort, and in the darkness of ignorance._

_I hope I find what I'm looking for. I hope I find you all again._

_I took a compass, the broken clock, and a bedroll. I technically don't need sleep, as you know, but I've listened to you and I’ll rest like you encouraged. I took bandages, even if I bleed slowly, and I took a waterskin, even if I'm not tainted by dirty, still water. I have my glowstone, even if we don't know why the darkness no longer hurts us._

_I think the moon has something to do with that too – it only affected us for a few days in the old world, and now it’s gone. I have that itchy feeling, the knowing one, that it’s going to come back somehow._

_Please keep going without me. Sapnap loves you, Wilbur loves you, they all do. Please keep going without me, because I am planning on coming back. I’m sorry for leaving you, but please keep going without me. This is my own problem, and I must solve it myself._

_I’m sorry, George. I love you, and I’m sorry._

_Stay safe, and don't wait for me._

_Dream._


	3. Chapter 2: Harsher Light

It was a watery, thin morning. 

Techno didn't quite know what he meant when he thought it, but it was the most accurate way he could think of describing it. He could hear Fundy plucking at some instrument he made from boards and string down below, and Techno watched over their settlement with some interest and a lot of ambivalence. His sword was inside the house, the fire to its side dead, and his table was covered in papers. Maps, notes, observations, and old tomes. 

He hid the book he was writing in earlier among the ones on his shelves, since he knew he was the only real reader in the group. No one would think to look.

Mist unspooled like a thick wool across the settlement, and from above, Techno could hardly see the loamy floor which they’d covered with wood chips to stop puddles from forming, and the mist’s presence silenced all the distant noise of birds, and muffled the noise of Phil starting up his furnaces to start his smithing for the day. Soon the air would be smoky, ashen, and staining the tree above his house black without actually setting it alight. Fundy’s fake guitar quieted, stopped, and then restarted with the same song on a different key. It was out of tune, and if he wasn't careful, Wilbur would take it off him. 

Techno ignored the knock at his front door for the fourth time. He sipped his over-brewed mint tea and sighed. 

“I can hear you, Techno,” Tommy yelled. 

“I’m busy,” he yelled back.

“Doing what?”

“Thinking.”

“Thinking about what?”

“None of your business.”

Techno could hear Tommy mutter to himself, but his only reaction was a twitch of his ears, which hung down beside his face like hair. The half-druid took care not to get any nicks or cuts in them, and the flesh was smooth in comparison to the scattering of scars over the rest of his body. The only scar where the others could see them was one on his upper lip, from where one of his lower tusks came through and rubbed against his skin, turning it raw. It was healed now, and with his mouth shut it was mostly disguised by the tooth, but on the inside of his mouth he could feel the loose, tougher flesh. It was ironic, really – the injury visible to others was one he technically caused himself. 

“You look like you're thinking about cheese.”

Techno didn't open his eyes, pretending that Tommy wasn't on the balcony with him, as if sight alone was enough to stop it. Unfortunately, unlike Tommy, Techno was still capable of listening.

“Who taught you to pick locks?”

“Fundy.”

“Fundy wouldn't teach you that.”

“Oh, okay. Fundy taught Tubbo, and Tubbo taught me.”

“Did Tubbo teach you or did you coerce him into it?”

Tommy shrugged. Techno could only tell because he had weaselled his way under his cape and was using it to ward off the chill of the autumnal morning. They were pressed side to side, almost close enough for Techno to feel the other man’s leg against his own, and while he didn't mind, he also didn't _not_ mind either. 

They stood side by side in a quiet moment, the only sounds being the plucking of the fake guitar before it twanged, crashed and stopped. Wilbur had found Fundy, then, Techno thought. All it did was remind Techno of how he made the right choice of forcing the other half-druid to move out.

 _Force_ was a strong word. _Convince_ might be better, even if Niki disagreed with him on that one. 

“So what _are_ you thinking about?” Tommy asked again and wormed his way in front of Techno, making him even more impossible to ignore, if that was possible. 

“Stuff.”

“Must be awfully stoic, huh?”

“Yep.”

“Right,” Tommy scratched his hair, “Well, I’m going to go and talk to Phil. He said he was going to make bread, so there might be some fresh loaves around if I’m lucky.”

“You enjoy Phil’s cooking?”

“I haven’t tried it.”

“Well, have fun.”

“You don't want to come?”

“No thank you.”

Tommy went away from in front of Techno, and he struggled not to let out a sigh of relief, and instead just opened his eyes to look down on their settlement again. Through the mist, great slices of sunlight came through the trees in pieces, almost like a kind of finely packed golden sponge cake, and if Techno had to guess, he would say it was nearing quarter sun. Since they were still so far north, they didn't have a method of time so much as an estimation. In summer, quarter sun might be 6am, or in winter, 11am. Day break, quarter sun, half sun, three-quarter sun, and sun set. It was maybe nine in the morning. 

Rustling papers. Techno snapped around.

“Don't touch my stuff!”

But Tommy already had his nose pressed into one of the pages Techno had been using to write on, his eyes scanning the page eagerly, like someone drinking water for the first time in days, and he seemed eager to know more. Techno snatched the page out of his hand, ripping it down to his side so that Tommy and the half-druid were face-to-snout. He grinned up at the pig. 

“So you’re thinking about Wilbur?”

“That’s none of your business.” 

“Have you noticed how his hair has gone darker?” 

Techno didn't say anything, but he was brushing all the papers into one pile, and he slid the three books on the table closed casually, praying Tommy wouldn't put his head into those too. Inside was darker, missing the golden light of day and only being illuminated by the still lit candle in a chamberstick holder on the table. The wick was long, and the tallow short. He would need to replace it before he could light it again.

“His skin is different too, lighter. Niki says his eyes are getting darker as well, but then I think they’re lighter. But I don't go staring into them like she does. Have _you_ noticed his eyes?”

“Can't say I have.” 

“Techno, you can tell me the truth if you want to,” Tommy said, and he wiggled his eyebrows at the half-druid in the mockery of a suggestion. 

“I have nothing to tell you,” he said.

“No? No secrets? No hidden passages, no madwoman in the attic?” 

Techno raised an eyebrow, and said, “I don't even have a roof, Tommy, I live in a tree if you haven't noticed.”

“It’s an expression,” Tommy said, and Techno knew that, “but you can tell me things, or tell Phil things! He’s good at listening.”

“So you want me to tell Phil so that you can badger it out of him instead?”

Techno pulled the books over to the shelf on the far side of the room, further into the gloom of his own home and near to the ladder leading back down. His made bed was against the far wall, along with a bed warming pan and a chest for what little clothing he owned. The whole settlement had little cloth on their backs, and Techno was really no different. Three cotton shirts (one which he didn't wear out on account of the blood stain – a sleeping shirt, now), two pairs of dark trousers, one pair of boots which he never wore and his cloak. His crown rested on top of the chest, unmoved from the night before. Tommy looked at it, squinted, then looked at Techno in much the same way.

“Have you been awake all night?”

“...No?”

“Have you been thinking of Wilbur all night?” Tommy said it in a way that suggested something that Techno had never considered, and he said just as much.

“I’ve not been thinking about Wilbur,” he said, slotting the books back onto the shelf, “I’ve been thinking about something, but not about Wilbur.”

“What about?”

“ _None of your_ – Tommy. You’re killing me here.” 

Tommy grinned at him. He licked both fingers deliberately and snuffed out the candle, waving his hand around after it burned him, and then faked nonchalance by leaning on his hip against the table. Techno watched the whole debacle with one eyebrow raised, but if Tommy continued, the balcony was a quicker route of exit when it came to getting him to leave. 

“You can tell me! I won't tell anyone.”

“Do you not consider Tubbo ‘anyone’?” 

“Well… yeah, but Tubbo and I, we’re thick as thieves, partners in crime. Anything he knows I know.”

“And anything you know he knows?”

“No, some of its personal.” 

Techno snorted at him, and with little ceremony, he climbed down the ladder two floors to get to his kitchen, where he set about cleaning the soot out of the stove. Tommy followed him gracelessly, his leg missing one of the ladder rungs further up and he came tumbling down with a yelp. Continuing to ignore the other man, he washed his hands, threw some logs and tinder into the stove, lit it, and set about cracking eggs. 

“Do you want one or two?” He asked, and Tommy took a seat on the other side of the room.

“Three, please.”

“Alright.” 

The sun had reached a point where it was coming through the window in his front door, casting its orange glow across the floor and stretching the shadows out long. Techno moved a fork around the bowl of five eggs, letting the small fire within the stove grow to a more manageable size, and he set the bowl down with a clunk to poke it slightly to encourage the flames. He placed the metal plate over one of the holes in the stove, leaving the other one free for now, and he pulled a cast iron frying pan off the wall, placing it over the other hole so it was directly over the flame. He turned away from the stove for a moment, grabbing oil, bread, and a small pat of butter, and he ignored Tommy watching him as he put oil into the pan and started to slice the bread.

As the eggs hit the cast iron pan, they hissed and spitted like a wild cat, before settling into a content burble. He tossed the bread onto the metal plate, and then stirred the eggs around into small curdles, letting them sit as he flipped the toast. Tommy dragged his feet back behind the table, taking off his shoes before crossing them over on the bench Techno had to sit on. It was a circular bench for a circular table, with two hardback chairs making up for where the bench couldn't be. 

The lanterns which hung from the ceiling were unlit, but the sun coming through the window cast on one of them and made it look like it was alight. Tommy’s eyes flickered between the lanterns, the tools on the far wall, the window in the door and the food on the stove. Techno pulled the eggs off the heat. 

With little ceremony, he put a pair of cork mats onto the table and put the frying pan on top of one, before grabbing the metal plate with the toast and putting it on the other. The butter was still cold, seeing as the kitchen was usually the coldest room in the house, but Techno put the butter dish onto the metal plate to ease its hardness before grabbing a couple of plates, a pitcher, and two ceramic cups. 

Tommy poured milk from the pitcher, Techno first and for himself second, before he helped himself to the eggs and toast.

“Thanks,” he said with his mouth full, “You can come have breakfast at mine tomorrow if you want.”

“Thanks, but no thanks,” Techno didn't go for the eggs immediately, instead drinking the milk down in a practiced gulp. If he didn't concentrate, sometimes whatever he was drinking would come out the sides of his mouth and spill down his shirt. Such was the problem of being a half-druid – it was all fun and games until it came down to practical things like wearing clothes and acting civilised. 

“What are you up to today then?” Tommy asked, “I was going to pick those carrots we planted ages ago, the ones which are yellowing and weird. Tubbo thinks that if we brine them they’ll keep.”

“That should work,” Techno said, as he finally began eating. Tommy had already helped himself, but there was more than enough for him as well. He continued, “I’m going to talk to George about Dream for a second. I think I might have found something he’d be interested in.” 

“Will you tell me?” Tommy asked, leaning over the table slightly. 

“If George wants to tell you, he will.” 

Tommy huffed and fell back into his seat, looking off to the side. His shirt was grey from dirt, the red on the arms thinner than before and he was in need of a winter coat. If Techno remembered correctly, there was a flock of sheep somewhere north-west. Maybe it would be worth paying them a visit before winter came. 

Autumn had been good to them. It wrapped them in a cocoon of leaves and heady air while they pulled mushrooms from the earth and apples from the trees. It was a relief from life, from uncertainties, and for a while they could ignore the outside world pressing in on them, like eyes in the darkness with the autumn splendour shielding their eyes. Techno was all too aware of the jar of chestnuts he was keeping away from Fundy and Sapnap, lest they find it and eat it without wanting to let him know. 

But winter was on the horizon, he could feel it each time he took a deep breath or whenever he cast his gaze over the river south of the settlement, where salmon were fewer each day and thin ice greeted them in its place. George and Niki had still managed to catch, salt and pickle many of the fish they caught, but winter between nine people wouldn't be easy, even if George was adamant that there would only technically be eight of them.

“Wilbur will probably hibernate,” he said a week or so ago, specifically when Wilbur wasn’t in the room.

“What makes you so confident?” someone asked. 

Techno didn't remember who asked, but he remembered George shrivelling like the plums they had pruned, and he had slunk back into himself. If a walnut could regrow its shell once it had been exposed, then George would be that personified. 

“Can I come?” Tommy asked.

“Well, I’m not about to _physically stop you_ , but I don't want you to.”

“So that’s not a no.”

Techno sighed and got up from the table, grabbing Tommy’s plate and the frying pan before dumping them on one of the low tables across the room. He’d go and get water to wash them after he’d talked to George, and hopefully after convincing Tommy to leave him alone. 

“Are you going now?” Tommy was hovering in the doorway, his arm blocking an easy escape, but Techno shoved past him anyway.

Outside was newer, fresher than before. It no longer felt like a half-finished watercolour landscape but an actual, real thing, and it took Techno a moment to blink in the sun before he realised that he actually existed there in that moment. Tommy was already ahead, stomping over the pine needles and brushing the dead cow parsley aside, which was a light brown colour and only around a foot high. It was easy to see where they had forged their way through the undergrowth from how nothing grew in certain splotches of ground, and the winding path towards Phil’s house and the rest of the settlement proved it. The air smelled faintly of smoke, but it was muted by the overwhelming scent of damp earth and rain. It had yet to actually rain, but he suspected it might. 

Blackberries, half dead, littered the bushes near his home. The only ones left were the ones not big enough to pick in the first place, and they had withered and died on the same plant that created them. As he brushed past them some fell to the floor – a husk containing a seed and nothing more. 

Techno took care to step around Tommy, and he didn't entertain any more questions as he made the short walk to George’s house, brushing past the cornus which grew near Tommy’s house and up to the fire pit which was charred and filled with soot. George’s house had actual windows now – an improvement from when they’d first joined groups and he had no glass in them – and had a trail of ivy growing up the side despite George’s best efforts to get rid of it. The door was closed, and Techno knocked, ignoring the presence over his shoulder. 

George opened the door. Even with his glasses, he looked tired. 

“Oh, hey,” he said, his hand still holding the edge of the door. It wasn't completely open, with him holding it like that, but Techno didn't bother to try and figure out what it meant. George could figure out his own problems. 

“Hi,” Techno said, “I wanted to ask you about something.”

“Something?”

Techno looked over his shoulder at Tommy, and then back to George. The other man pulled the door open slightly further, his body still blocking the way through but not as closed off as before. Curious, Techno noted, but still apprehensive. Tommy, even though Techno couldn't see him, seemed annoyed at being ignored. 

“Do you want to come in?” George asked, and something about his tone of voice made Techno wonder if he knew what he wanted. 

“Please,” Techno replied, and George stepped to the side to let him through. 

He didn't bother to look as Tommy shoved his way in too. 

He had never really been inside George’s house before, only ever seeing it from the outside when he left the door open, or if everyone else was in there too, blocking the view. There was a staircase going up, a few trapdoors on the right side with a chest piled on top of it, a bed-turned-sofa on the far side of the room, and walls with shelves in odd places. The light in the house was dim, but not too dark to see by, and the lanterns on the aforementioned shelves were unlit. Behind one of the walls was a stove, similar to Techno’s but slightly larger, and a pile of wood was stacked high near the staircase going up. Near to the stove, a door led into another room, although Techno was fairly certain it just led to the wood shack behind his house rather than to anywhere exciting. He could feel that the stove had been on, but the lack of sound made him assume George had finished cooking already. The house smelt like a mixture of cooked fish and old books. 

“What can I help you with?” George asked as he pulled out a couple of chairs, putting them upright for Techno and Tommy, but he didn't seat himself, instead leaning on a wall near to the bed-come-sofa. 

Techno neglected accepting the seat, and instead he went straight in with a question.

“What happened?”

George’s face fell.

“When?”

“When Dream found Wilbur, and when you disappeared through that portal.”

George sucked in a harsh breath after Techno said this, and Tommy looked between the two of them with a bewildered look on his face, like he didn't know what to do now that he had forced himself to be there. Techno resisted the urge to glance away from George, and he watched as he crossed his arms before him, defensive.

“There’s not much to say,” George tried.

“There’s plenty I want to know.”

“Like what?”

“Tell me what happened. You woke up somewhere, right? Or where you conscious as soon as you went through?”

“I was unconscious, but you don't need to know that.”

A bit like he was trying to play chess, Techno changed tactics. He knew that George didn't know him well enough to recognise it, but Tommy certainly did, and he sat up straighter in his chair as Techno’s tone of voice changed. 

“George,” he said with a sigh, “It’s just… You know how little we know. We’re in the dark here, and when no one tells us stuff it makes it harder for us to get what you’ve been through and for us to help you out.”

“I don't need your help.”

“No, but we might need _yours_. What if these dudes came back? What if we’re caught unprepared?”

“They won't come back.”

“What makes you say that?”

George’s mouth turned thin. With purposeful movement, George took a couple of steps forward and took the chair Techno neglected, and he crossed his legs ankle to knee and kept his arms the same as before. George, almost defiantly, looked at him and raised an eyebrow. 

“There’s only three of those tree-people left,” George said, “They’re not coming back because there’s only three. They saw how many of us there are, too.”

“And can they regrow?”

George shrugged. 

“You don't know?”

“The other… the other-Sapnap mentioned they grow from cornus, whatever _that_ is, but it didn't say anything about them coming back once they’re dead.” 

Techno nodded, his ears going down far enough to brush the woolly trim on his cloak before rising again. Some of his siblings, back when he knew them, chose to get their ears clipped intentionally to stop them from drooping, but Techno had not done the same. When he looked down fully they covered his eyes. 

He made a note to rip up the cornus that grew near Tubbo and Tommy’s house, since if this was true, it was probably a good idea to get rid of it. 

“Did he say what he wanted?”

“Who?”

“This other-Sapnap.”

George stared at him, his eyes invisible through his glasses, and he shifted.

“I don't know,” he said, and waved his arm to one side. His voice was slightly off, too tense to be blasé, too aware to fake carelessness. “Something about cornus, darkness. Nothing too obvious.”

“Something that is pretty obvious is how you’re lying.”

George’s chin wobbled. 

“ _Fine,_ ” he spat, “he wanted to know where the other-George was.”

“Dead?”

He nodded. 

“And why is Wilbur still Wilbur?”

“Huh?”

Techno stopped leaning on the doorframe, standing at his full height before crouching in front of George in the chair, getting on his level. He looked at George for a moment, before reaching forward and plucking his dark glasses off his face.

“Hey – “

“Why is Wilbur still Wilbur? Why did the other-Wilbur eat him, but our Wilbur is now in his body?”

“I don't – “

“If you say ‘I don't know’ I’ll hit you. Wilbur _said_ something happened when you and Sapnap came back through to this world, an important conversation of some kind, and based on the sound of it, _you_ know what it is.”

A pause, interrupted only by the sound of Tommy shifting in his chair and the now in-tune guitar picking up again, and George leaned forward so his elbows rested on his thighs, looking at Techno with uncovered eyes. He was exasperated, somewhere between angry, annoyed, and worried, and it was clear that he didn't want to say anything even though he was verbally trapped. Techno just raised an eyebrow as George sputtered for a moment before going quiet, but the pig didn't relent. George, under Techno’s false ire, broke.

“Sapnap thinks they want to become immortal; the tree-people, I mean. For them it’s like a brain transplant or something, a means of putting our heads in their bodies to make a stronger being. Dream doesn't know how old he is so it’s not like we can tell if it’s an, I don't know, an _immortality_ thing or whatever, but that’s his theory.”

“So they seek us out when they start to die?”

“I _guess._ I don't know anything for certain.”

“It’s just speculation then? Like, what you and Sapnap have put together?”

“And Dream,” George said, but seemed to catch himself, “I meant to ask him, before, you know…”

Techno nodded, taking care to look more understanding than solemn. He stood up properly then, no longer leaning against the doorframe and blocking the light that came through the window in it, before he looked at George again.

“You could always go and look for him, you know.” 

“He left his knife with me,” George said as if it meant anything to Techno and Tommy, “He wrote a separate note. Three sentences. ‘ _Please keep this with you. It will keep you safe. That’s more important than protecting me_.’ What on earth is it supposed to mean?”

He sighed, pressing his hands to his face as if he would be able to see clarity in the darkness it created, but after a moment George glanced at him, his head still tilted towards the floor slightly, but still curious. 

“Would you come with me?” he asked with a raised eyebrow, “if I went to look for Dream?”

“No,” George’s shoulders slumped as Techno continued, “But if you and Sapnap actually talk to one another and stop moping, he might.” 

“Is it wise going to look for him so close to winter?”

Techno didn't know, but he took a stab in the dark to see if he’d hit anything.

“Is it worth leaving Dream out there alone over winter?”

George was looking at him again, but Techno didn't say anything as he let himself out. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Techno is a sneaky one, isn't he? It was fun writing a character that actually knows something is afoot. 
> 
> Thank you for the brilliant responses so far! And also, in the past two days of editing this fic has gone over 40,000 words. Just... by the way.


	4. Chapter 3: Wilderness

Westward bound, Dream realised that he had definitely been here before. 

The spruce forest had taken him days to get through, mostly because west was hard to find when the trees blocked every path, and he was distracted by any animal, unusual plant, or ruined house he came across. With the onset of winter on the horizon and the previous winter still a dark patch in his mind, keeping enough body weight on him was critical in case he needed to hibernate out there, somewhere no doubt a little too exposed for his liking and a little too dark.

His single glowstone, the one that had saved him too many times to count, was still in his pocket. The compass had replaced its previous position, his hand, and the needle was steady in leading him onwards. 

But now he was out of the spruce forest and in, somehow, familiar territory. 

A field, filled with heather and bluebells, stretched over the landscape like a massive, embroidered blanket, filled with half-decayed life and ruts from a now dead herd of animals. The hooves looked too big to be cows, almost the same size as the elk that sometimes walked through the spruce forest, but it bode well that he was walking in the same direction as wherever these animals went. It meant food, eventually water, and possibly shelter at some point in the future. He wasn't entirely sure where he was going, but the compass still pointed west, and so he moved on. 

He passed a trio of ash trees, ones that looked as lost in the field as Dream himself felt, and their stooping and crooked branches hung low and leafless in the breeze. Those were new, he could tell through a haze of uncertainty, those were new to him even though they looked old. But it was the light, the shading of the day over the landscape that did it. It turned the sky from a bright winter blue to a fiery yellow, golden as it aged to red, and his shadow was long beside him. He had been here before, but when?

The day was wearing thin, having gone from a misty, pale affair to one that scorched him in the sun and froze him in the wind, and his shadow stood to his right, taking the same steps he did with none of the added weight. If he had not had the misfortune of being easily distracted or lost, he might have only been travelling a day and a half, but the day he took to explore an abandoned collection of houses had distracted him, along with the many other times where he stuck his face where it didn’t belong. He didn't find anything useful, but there was a mine going deep into the earth and a few old pieces of tools, coins, signs of people, and more than a few by the looks of things. 

But there were no people, and he saw no bones. This world had been abandoned by whatever had lived in it before for centuries, maybe millenniums. Nothing here, it seemed, was new. Dream was even questioning whether he was. Surrounded by aged things, it was impossible not to feel old with it. A reminder of time, of the inevitability of it. He had been here before, but when? When? When? 

Dead but breathing, the forest had been suffocating, but now the field was a field of nothing but light. There was nowhere to hide, even if he wanted to. The heather moved around him, brushing his legs and hands as if to remind him that they were still there. He didn’t feel it move, he saw it more than anything else; a painting in a gallery, but he was in it. 

Was the path he followed really from animals? From some kind of herd of cows like he had believed, or even a team of horses? Some of the marks in the hard earth looked like they came from shoes, worn down and void of texture, but shoes nonetheless. Were they from someone else? They had to be – Dream got the ill feeling of déjà vu but not the confirmation he needed to confidently say he had been there before. His shoes did not fit the moulds underneath him, it was too small. His back hurt, his mouth felt dry and his teeth tasted like blood. The pheasant he had caught didn't go down easy when he had forgone plucking its feathers from its skin, but the flesh felt good. Wherever the tree-side of himself had come from, he suspected there had not been enough food to go around, or at least no edible plants. Why else would he be carnivorous? Why else would Wilbur be like that too? 

But as the spruce forest became a thin, dark line on the horizon in the west, another, lighter line appeared in the distance, one of orange and gold in the pale sun, and just before the splash of colour something obstructed it. 

A tower, dark, tall, and sinister waited for him just behind the autumnal tree line. 

Dream kept going. 

He felt like he should be able to see his breath before him, even with the mask, but despite his puffs of exhaustion the air was still and frozen in time, and he felt like the wind was just adding texture to the landscape rather than changing the air around him. He could feel the tips of his ears grow colder even with his hood in the way, along with his fingers, but it wasn't the stem deep, core freezing cold that meant he needed to desperately stop. He had a few days yet before it would come to that, when the heavens started to produce freezing rain or snow. 

But the tower was a promising sign; It was what he had been looking for, a metaphorical light in the darkness, or in this case, the dark tower on the greying sky. It had rained the night before, only for a short while and enough to announce it was there, but enough to cloud the morning, and it didn't seem like it would rain again, despite what the sky was trying to say. He picked up speed, his strides longer but no less careful on the rutted earth, and the tower grew closer. 

Something stuck out to him though. The tower was in surprisingly good condition considering the state of the other one, and while some kind of climbing plant grew up its side, the very top of the tower had an illuminated window, round, and perhaps a metre across. Someone stood in it, obscuring the yellow light, but then they moved aside. Dream kept moving, curious over taking self-preservation, but he was still a great distance from the tower when a figure appeared from the trees, walking towards him. 

Dream had to stop. They didn't look like any of the ‘others’, since they didn't look like someone he had met in this world yet, but there was still a chance that they were not human, or a half-druid, or some other ‘safe’ species that George had told him about as soon as they made their way back after Wilbur became… like him, he supposed. 

The other person kept coming closer. They looked like they were wearing a hood, dressed in all black, and had no face. 

That didn't bode well.

And as they both walked towards one another, Dream realised that, indeed, they had no face. 

“Hi!” the person yelled as soon as Dream was close enough to hear them, “Are you lost?”

He didn't say anything for a moment, just stopping in his tracks as he took in the sight of the other person. They sounded masculine, slightly higher in pitch than average and as they continued on he could see the red embellishments on their clothing, the iron-tipped spear they had on their back. They were not holding it, which was a good sign that they were friendly, but the barbed spikes on the tip sent a clear message. Maybe five hundred metres or so away from the tower, Dream and the other person came face to face, standing a few feet away. If they pulled the spear off their back, they would be just out of reach of stabbing Dream through the chest. 

“Hi,” they said again, sounding friendly, if not curious, “Who are you?”

“I’m Dream,” he said quietly, “who are you?”

“I’m Bad,” Bad said, and Dream could see how their eyes narrowed in a smile. 

“Are you human, Bad?” Dream asked. 

“Yep,” he pulled off his hood, and he looked like a perfectly normal human, with brown hair, glasses, and a bright smile. With a pang, Dream realised that he looked almost like George, if not for the slightly lighter hair and the clear glasses. 

“Are you human, too?” Bad asked as he pulled his hood back up. 

Their shadows disappeared under the setting sun, and the wind picked up as soon as it left, cutting through the fields of heather and slicing through his clothes like a knife. He started to shiver. 

“No,” Dream said before he could think better of it.

“Oh!” Bad took a step closer, his arms still by his side. He didn't seem aggressive just curious. “What species are you? A druid? A half-druid?”

“There isn't a proper name, really,” he said, “But someone has called me a tree-person before.”

Bad tilted his head curiously. The glow inside the tower behind him was bright and welcoming, like a fire was lit inside, and from where he was he could see some kind of fruit he had never seen before growing off the vines on the side of it. 

“A tree-person,” Bad breathed, and Dream realised that it wasn't with hostility, or through his teeth, but instead a curious kind of breathiness. “Wow, like a fairy? I’ve never met a tree-person before. Is this ‘someone’ with you now?”

“No.”

“Do you have somewhere to stay tonight? It’s a lot colder than usual.”

Dream hesitated. “No,” he said, “I’m just travelling.” 

“Do you want to come stay in my house?” Bad asked, but he seemed to realise himself, “I know it’s sudden, but, you know, I wouldn't mind company and I don’t want you freezing out here.” 

“Are you alone in the tower?” Dream tried not to let his voice come across as concerned. Bad might have explored the basement already and found nothing of note, or had encountered no danger as he fixed it up. There was no point getting worried until he knew more. 

“In my house? Yeah. I have a couple of friends further in the forest though.”

Dream thought about it for a moment before saying, “Okay. Yes please.” 

Bad didn't say anything, but he moved his hand in a ‘follow me’ motion and Dream caught up quickly, seeing as he was taller. With the sun going down, Dream could feel himself get antsy at the thought of being caught out here in the darkness, and he held the glowstone in his hand without pulling it out of the pocket, waiting for Bad to either hurry up or for them to be engulfed by the encroaching night.

But he and Bad were lucky, and they reached the tower within moments of it getting too dark to see. 

In the light of the doorway, Dream could see the fruit he spied earlier which grew in bunches of dark berries, trailing down like the buddleia did in the summer, and if they were edible, they looked just about ready to be harvested. The door to the tower was new, with more black brick cemented to the sides of the doorway to keep it in place, and the door seemed to be made of a heavy oak wood. The window in the door had a mesh of iron keeping the moths outside and the heat mostly in, but providing light when it was closed. It arched at the top, brushing the stones as he opened it. 

Inside was warm, an open fire on the far side and underneath where the staircase began to spiral upwards into the second floor. Atop the fireplace was a heavy metal sheet, containing nothing, but on the mantelpiece was a collection of cookware, some old and shoddy, and some newer looking but still shoddy. He’d probably made them, rather than found them. The floor was covered in a heavy, wool carpet, dyed red but scorched slightly on the side near to the fireplace, and to the right, where the staircase met the floor, was a pair of trapdoors which he assumed lead down. There was a window to the left, also with iron bars instead of glass, where the plants outside started to seep inside like an ooze. 

What struck him was the similarity between this tower and the previous one, with the only difference he could see being the staircase and passage down, which began on the right instead of the left. There was also the obvious differences of it being more homey and complete, with wooden floors, storage, and no dead pig inside, but structurally they were near identical. 

Bad watched him as he assessed his surroundings, and when Dream looked at him, he could see the other man smile beneath his hood. He had a pair of sharp teeth sticking out, or at least it looked like he did, and even though Bad couldn't see it, Dream smiled back. 

“This is my house,” Bad said.

“That’s right,” Dream said too, and Bad giggled. Even if the other man couldn’t see it, Dream still smiled. There was something endearing about this new person that he couldn’t really put his finger on. 

“But yeah, if you want to stay tonight you’re more than welcome to stay here. I don't have a spare bed but I do have pillows and stuff if you don't mind staying on the floor?”

Dream thought back to the previous three nights or so, when he either kept going or lay down on the bedroll which did little to disguise the hard, textured floor, and he shivered in the darkness to stop his body shutting down without his permission. He thought about never seeing the moon, only the void where it was once passing across the sky, and he looked at the fire burning in the stove on the other side of the room.

“Please,” Dream said eventually, remembering the manners George had taught him, “I’d love to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for all the wonderful responses so far! This is where the fic gets a bit awkward - I hope it is easy to tell when the POV shifts as it only happens between chapters. 
> 
> Also, I'm sorry for all the purple prose in this chapter lol. I wanted to bulk it out so that it wasn't just 'oh let's go here' etc, you know? Setting is cool, yo.


	5. Chapter 4: For Other Eyes

“-And Techno was doing some weird shit, man,” Tommy said, leaning back on the crafting table Phil had told him not to lean on a few hundred times before. 

“Yeah?” he said, too busy pulling the slag from the top of the molten iron to look over at Tommy, “What was he up to?”

“Well, I went to see him this morning, actually, after Tubbo kicked me out for waking him up. I went over and, well, he wouldn't let me inside so obviously I had to pick my way inside.”

Phil looked over at him, scowling slightly. Tommy was surprised he still had eyebrows, honestly. That smeltery was no joke. 

“Get off the crafting table,” Phil said, “and what do you mean pick your way inside? You picked the lock?”

“Either way, I got inside. He looked like he had not slept and his desk or table or whatever he has on the top floor was covered, and I mean  _ covered _ , in papers. Some of them I didn't get, I will admit, but he had a bunch of rubbish about Wilbur, so I ask him – “

“ _ You didn't _ .”

“I did! I ask him, ‘are you thinking about Wilbur?’ and he gets all kinds of defensive. It’s almost like, and you can see where I was going with this now, it’s almost like he had some kind of fancy for Wilbur.”

Phil made a noise of displeasure in the back of his throat and pulled the crucible from the furnace, beginning to pour it into the cast he set out earlier. He had his brows furrowed, and his hair was pulled back with a headband like Sapnap’s one, only dyed pink. It might have belonged to Niki’s at one point, but didn't Fundy have one too at some point? Was it pink or red? 

“But either way, he didn't answer.”

“Are you surprised by that?” Phil asked, and some iron spilt over the side of the cast. He cursed before moving on to the second ingot cast. 

“No. But then we had breakfast – brilliant breakfast by the way, you should go to some morning, he can really scramble eggs – and then he went to George’s house. Of course I followed him.”

“Of course.” 

“And Techno starts asking him questions.”

“What kind of questions?”

“Something about the other world.”

If Phil hadn't already put the crucible back into the furnace, he may have dropped it, but instead he looked up at Tommy with his soot covered face and raised his eyebrows. Phil didn’t look pleased, not in the slightest, but he inquired anyway. 

“Something?” he asked, “nothing specific?”

“I don't know. It was  _ weird, _ though. It was like he wanted something specific but settled for something that didn't mean anything, and I know Techno; he isn't going to give up without getting everything he wants. A warlord at heart, that one. Determined, or whatever. He must have seen something in it that I didn’t, and George wasn't pleased at being questioned, either.”

“...Right.” 

Phil stood and walked across the room, going to the kill-switch he had made for the furnaces and pulling it. The insides of the furnaces hissed and spluttered, their insides going dark just after pistons pulled out the fuel trays from behind, and the crucibles that were still inside, empty after Phil poured out their contents, went from their bright magma orange to steel grey in a matter of moments. 

“I’ll go talk to Techno,” Phil said as he went over to the bucket of water he kept around for emergencies to wash his hands and face. He used the end of his coat to wipe the water off his face when he was done before pulling the pink headband off and tossing it beside the bucket. He continued, “I don't want him doing anything stupid. Everything’s too delicate right now to be setting things askew.”

“Should I go? Do you want me to stay here? Or go with you?” Tommy asked, and he knew something was wrong. Phil had not asked him to get off the crafting table again. Something was definitely wrong. 

“You can stay if you want, but you'll be here alone.” 

So he left with him and the older man didn't protest, following Phil as he picked up his hat near the door and slid a hunters knife onto his belt. It was pretty standard to always carry a weapon or tool around, or in the case of Phil’s knife, one that was technically both, and Tommy was carrying a knife too, a small, wicked thing that Wilbur had given him for one of his birthdays. 

On the side, it was engraved with a dead language; _Pusilli et Magni._ He had no idea what it meant but supposedly it meant something important, meaningful, and it had been carved into one of the ruined temples they’d found in an old world. Techno knew what it meant, and he said it was definitely a good thing, but he still refused to tell Tommy what it meant. It was made from obsidian and some kind of unusual metal, platinum or osmium or something, and the holder was made from leather and wood – his own work, and much lower quality. It still did the job.

Phil’s knife was more like a machete, longer in the blade and with a stout handle, but his had been made with greater time and effort, and it showed in the way he had tempered the metal, causing it to shimmer and turn a holographic green tint. The swords that he had made for Niki, a pair of rapiers of some kind, were a cool, steel blue as well. The handguards on them wrapped around her wrist like a bird’s nest, or a bracelet, and they were something really special to look at. Phil liked to do stuff like that, and he was working on something for Sapnap and George now too, actually, when Tommy was in there. Sapnap didn’t need it, but the thought meant more than the weapon.

While Phil was someone who could make the metal into bars, ingots or large sheets, he was also the one who made it into something worth the time it took, which he had promised to teach whoever asked. 

Phil left his trident and elytra behind since he was not going far, and Tommy eyed where the trident had lost its turquoise sheen on the tip as if something had stained it, yellowed it. It reminded him a little bit of how Phil had found the trident rather than made it. It was funny how something that was so associated with Phil’s character wasn't actually earned but acquired instead, and how even with all the other man’s skill he couldn't make something to match the unnatural weapon he’d pulled from the ocean. But he’d earned his chill, his caring nature. He was unshakable. Tommy knew that if Phil was shaken in front of him then… then he wouldn't know what to think.

He and Phil walked over to the carved-out tree that made Techno’s house, which was only three floors high but continued upwards forever. The door in the front was one of the only windows visible, with the others being disguised by branches or foliage around the bottom of the tree, and they could clearly see a light from inside. One of the disadvantages to living in a forest was the lack of sunlight, and in the tall shade of the spruces it was no different. They had joked, at one point, that daylight lasted half an hour in the morning when the sun rose, and half an hour in the evenings when it set. Two patches of daylight and that was it. 

He knocked on the door, with Tommy waiting a few feet behind. 

“Hello?” Techno said as he answered the door a few moments later. A mark was on his right cheek, the same size as his ear, as if he had fallen asleep on it by accident.

“I didn't wake you up, did I?” Phil said, and his voice wasn't quite sorry enough for Tommy to believe it. Techno didn't seem to notice. 

Techno didn't invite them in, but he did step out into the early evening and close the door behind him, ready to give his full attention to Phil and Tommy as he blinked the sleep out of his eyes. The small scar on his face, near one of his teeth on his lower jaw, was wet with saliva that Techno had not noticed, and it made him look as if he had been drooling on something. His cloak was crumpled. 

Phil got straight to the point. 

“Tommy said you went to talk to George about something earlier,” he said, “like, about that other-world.”

Techno glanced at Tommy, his face unreadable, before he turned his attention back to Phil.

“I did,” he said. 

“You know you can ask me too?” Phil wasn't obvious with it, but his voice was not as innocent as it sounded, having an edge of curiosity, some warble that made him sound unsure where he stood. Tommy wasn't an expert at reading people, but he could tell Techno picked up on it too. 

“Of course,” Techno reassured him, “But I was curious, you know? I’m sure what you and George went through were two very different things.”

Phil nodded, “That’s true. What did you want to hear about?”

“I wanted to hear about what these ‘others’ had to say. I was going to ask Sapnap, too.”

Phil grimaced, putting a hand behind his head to rub at his neck. His wrist brushed his hat. 

“Sapnap… is a little closed off about it,” Phil said gently, “He didn't really talk to any of them, same as me, but apparently the other… the other-you talked to him about something.”

“Any idea what?” Techno’s ears twitched forward, framing his face slightly more than before, and although he wasn't wearing his crown the impression of him wearing a hat wasn't lost. Such was the effect of having such large ears, Tommy supposed. 

“Nonsense, apparently, but if you’re piecing together everyone’s stories then I don't see what harm it does knowing it. Do you want me to talk to him?”

Techno tilted his head, his large brown eyes looking Phil up and down. 

“Would he be more likely to talk to you about it?”

Phil put a hand to his chest, earnest. “If Sapnap were to talk to anyone, it would be me, George or Wilbur, since we were all in the other-world together, and even then I don't know if he wants to talk to George, and Wilbur might be too… uncertain.” 

Techno leaned back against the door, letting it rattle against the frame as he brought a hoofed hand to his face as if to stroke his chin, but all he did was hold the neck of his cloak down to scratch at his neck. Finally, Techno spoke. 

“Okay.”

Tommy watched Phil smile. 

“What do you want me to ask?”

The forest was thinner as he approached the waterside, and the plants that had once been thick with life and greenery had turned brown, brittle, and were brushed aside with ease. Phil made his way down there without a care for volume, knowing that if Sapnap heard him before seeing him, he was less likely to lash out in shock or at least anticipate someone joining him.

The sound of flowing water greeted him first, then the noise that came from Sapnap sloshing through the river, his hands no doubt filled with buckets of pond weed (a good iron source, and once dried, lasted basically forever) and what thin offerings of salmon the river had left. 

And as Phil pushed the decaying bulrushes away, he reached the waterside. 

Sapnap had his trousers rolled up to part way up his calves, and his feet were bright pink in the water, holding the rocks beneath the surface in such a way that ensured he wouldn't slip. On the bank, his boots and socks waited under an ash tree, along with another bucket of fish, and the tree hung over the water in a wide fan, leafless, but still casting a great shadow. Sapnap looked up as Phil came out from the bushes, and he waved slightly, his bucket of fish sloshing a little as he let go of it. No fish spilt from it. 

“Hey mate,” Phil said, coming up to the water and sitting down cross legged, “I wanted to ask you a few things, if that’s cool.” 

“What about?” Sapnap asked. He had a long, sharpened stick in his other hand, the end of it barbed to stop the fish from slipping off after he had stabbed them. Phil watched as he stabbed the water and swore. Miss. 

“Techno’s been trying to find out more about the ‘Other-world’,” Phil told him, putting it plainly to stop Sapnap from trying to dig it out of him, “He told me a few of the questions that he wanted to ask you, but I figured, you know…”

Phil shrugged, and Sapnap watched as his shoulders went up and down before his eyes flickered back to Phil’s face.

“You figured you could filter it?”

“No, but you know how Techno hounds people for information sometimes. He’s not exactly one to let things go, and you – “

“Would probably punch him for it,” Sapnap nodded and stood up straight, still holding the bucket in both hands. The one near Phil and Sapnap’s shoes had a few thin, dead fish still inside – their eyes were glassy, opaque, and they had obviously been dead for a while. The only thing that stopped him from thinking that they were for bait was the fact that they were still half-submerged in the water. They may have been dead on arrival. 

“Yeah,” Phil agreed, looking away from the fish. “You and Techno do have a bit of a rocky history.”

Sapnap came back to the shore, his pink ankles becoming more visible as he reached the bank and clambered up. His shirt sleeves were wet up past his elbows, despite him having rolled them, but his trouser legs were surprisingly free of water. Sapnap dumped the bucket of water back into the river and sat down beside Phil, taking his time in wiping the water off his feet using his socks, and then shoving them into his boots without them. 

“Techno was going on about what you heard… other-Techno say.”

Sapnap glanced at him, mid-way through putting on another boot. 

“Yeah?”

“He just wanted to know if it was anything important.”

“No, just… gibberish.” 

“What did he say?”

“Something about us being made in their image,” Sapnap paused before continuing, and Phil let him. “And he implied that the Netherite sword I found belonged to the other-Sapnap, or one of the others, either way.” 

“And it meant nothing to you?”

Another pause, longer this time. 

“No.”

“And the last thing he said,” Phil explained to them, leaning on the still warm furnace in his house as Tommy and Techno tried to fit in among the clutter, “was something about them bringing Wilbur to the other-Wilbur to ‘save his life’ or something.”

Tommy scoffed, looking down and shaking his head as his fringe disguised his view from Phil, and instead of looking at the younger man, he turned his gaze to Techno.

“Does that mean anything to you, mate?”

Techno had his arms folded, partly to stop him from elbowing the pile of jars and bottles (again) and partly, Phil assumed, to stop himself from giving too much away. The pig was hard to read at times, but Phil knew him well, and Techno knew that too. Crossing his arms wasn't a normal behaviour. The pig must have noticed the glance Phil sent to his arms and he uncrossed them, putting them behind his back and leaning on them to stop the jars from deciding to ruin their days. 

“A little,” Techno admitted, “the ‘being made in their image’ thing is nothing, though. How do we know if we are made in theirs, or they are made in ours? We can't make the decision without proof, and honestly, I don't think we’ll ever get proof.”

Tommy looked up. “Isn't that what Dream went out to get?” He said, “Proof, or an explanation, or whatever?” 

The others nodded. Phil pressed a hand to his face, thinking of the million things he had to do before winter. There was a list around there, somewhere, with everything he had thought of and more, but he couldn't for the life of him remember where it was. One of the things was to tell Tommy to get rid of the wood sorrel in his and Tubbo’s garden, lest he accidentally pickle it and get the two of them sick (again), and another thing was to tell Techno to get his books out of everyone’s houses. They spread around like weeds, somehow. 

Techno nodded when Phil didn't say anything. “He mentioned it, yeah. I think it was for something else, though.”

“You ‘think’? Phil asked. That was definitely a sign. Techno didn’t deal with uncertainties unless he was trying to figure them out, but the half-druid just shrugged. 

“Are you trying to do that from here?” Tommy asked, tactless. Techno’s hoof scraped against the floor as he uncrossed his legs, an ugly sound that the younger man didn't notice, and the pile of jars beside him rattled when his elbow shifted too. Both Phil and Techno eyed it, ready to dive or duck when it fell. 

“Not really,” Techno said. 

His lip twitched, his eyes were relaxed, and his hand, his left, was gripped on his forearm. Something was up.

“What  _ are _ you looking for?” Phil asked. He didn’t want to probe, he really didn’t, but the thought of Techno leading them all into danger, or even just himself, wasn’t a welcome one at any time, least of all in late autumn. 

“I’m just curious about what they wanted,” Techno shrugged. His shoulders were tight, his eyes going smoothly from looking at Tommy to Phil, and the skin around his eyes was greyer than if he had slept decently the night before. “Whether it was something they had to forcefully take, or if we could have just given it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm debating making it so that I post this every day instead of every other day. For one, the work is complete, I just need to edit it, but since I'm at Uni it's becoming more difficult to focus both on my work and my fics, and naturally the work takes priority.   
> I know when I first mentioned the every two days schedule, people were fine with it, but would you prefer every day updates or every other day ones instead? Don't hesitate to tell me, as any feedback would be great :)


	6. Chapter 5: Memory

“Who’s your friend, Bad?”

The person was wearing a mask, just like Dream, and a hood, also like Dream, but his clothing and his mask were a completely matching set of turquoise, with a puffy down bodywarmer thrown over a normal jacket. His trousers were darker than the rest of his outfit, instead being more of a teal colour, and a big tuft of shiny black hair poked out from the hood. The weirdest thing was how the mask had a big, red tongue painted onto it, clashing with everything else this person (male, if the voice was anything to go by) had created about themselves. 

Dream nodded at him, as well as the other person standing next to him, but Bad interrupted as he spokup. 

“This is Dream!” Bad said it as he came before Dream, putting an arm out behind him to either gesture at him or hold him back, but Dream decided it was probably the former, especially considering how friendly Bad had been to him the night before and that morning. As far as he was aware, he hadn’t given Bad a reason not to trust him. 

“You found him?” The other person asked, who had dark brown hair and a round face, and was wearing a cream-coloured coat which went down past his knees. The end of the coat, the ends of each sleeve, and the hood behind his head were all lined with a rich brown wool, and each drawstring attached to the hood had a pom-pom of a similar colour. He didn't look upset to see Dream, but was more so understandably curious. 

“Uh-huh,” Bad said, pulling Dream forward. He continued, gesturing to the other two now, “Dream, this is Skeppy,” The man in blue waved, “And this is Ant!” Ant tilted his head downwards in a nod, his mouth invisible behind the high collar of his coat, and Dream brought a hand up to wave at them slightly, still not used to being in groups larger than two at a time. 

“Hi,” He said when he realised that he should probably say something, “I’m Dream. Are you both human?” 

Because that was an appropriate question to ask, right?

“I am!” Skeppy said, “Ant’s a druid. He’s only sometimes human. Bad’s a coal fairy.”

“For the last time, Skeppy–“ Bad started, but Ant was too curious to let him finish. 

“Were you lost?” Ant asked, one of his eyebrows rising, “It’d be tough to try and re-find your home if you are. This place seems to go on forever.” 

“The world?” Dream asked.

“Yeah.”

He nodded, but Skeppy interjected before he could verbally agree. 

“Yeah, in the summer we went all around here. Just broken buildings and stuff though. It’s like there was a whole civilisation here before us, but nothing actually useful.”

“Worlds are filled with broken buildings and whatever all the time though,” Bad said, “Like my house! Or yours. Hey, Dream,” he looked down at Bad when he mentioned his name, “Do you want to see the other places we found? Oh! We can show you Skeppy and Ant’s house, and how it was, like, an abandoned church or something. It’s really cool.”

Ant and Skeppy didn't seem to be warming up to him as quickly as Bad had, but they didn’t protest to Bad’s suggestion and they guided the way back through the oak forest towards their house, brushing aside large patches of dead bushes and skirting around the edges of holly. 

Skeppy didn’t like him. He could tell from the instant that Bad put his arm around his waist, but Bad didn’t seem to notice, or at least care to notice, and Dream decided that it would probably be wise not to bring it up. Ant, however, just eyed Dream in the way Techno had in the tower, although without the traces of fear. He was a curious one, then, someone who obeyed every urge to know more. 

It had been a bitterly cold morning, with the sun not rising until mid-morning and frost coating every surface, but Dream had to admit that the forest looked lovely, bright in the midday sun and filled with gold and ochre leaves, making a canopy of warm colours above them as they walked. The trees in the forest were old but healthy, filled with acorns that dropped from the branches as if they were amber jewels on a crown, and the branches were just low enough to occasionally brush the top of Dream’s hood. His own clothes were starting to match the surroundings, he had noticed as soon as he had left the spruce forest two days prior, and instead of being the mottled greenish brown of early autumn they had gone a vibrant yellow, with only the ends of his trousers and his shoes still being the same as before. He had left his sword back at Bad’s house, along with his bag, but Bad assured him that they could share what few things Bad was carrying with him. He wished he had his knife, but George might have needed it. it wasn’t worth risking the other man if it meant keeping his mind at ease. 

Bad had a couple of short swords to replace the spear he was carrying the day before, both of which were iron and on either side of his hip, and his bag was small but still held at least a flint and steel, which he had seen the other man use on the stove that morning. There were always a few essentials that people carried around, it seemed, and a weapon or tool was not an exception. Even in their settlement, which had no monsters or enemies, aside from the other tree-people, they carried around swords, knives, axes and other tools. 

They slid down a ledge and into marshier ground, but Dream could see that they were just crossing a ditch rather than entering a wetland, and all three of them scrambled up the other side like a pack of monkeys, using roots and footholds to pull themselves up. Skeppy went first, his hood catching on a branch and pulling it down, but he didn't seem to care and helped Ant up before fixing it. He had lent a hand to Dream too, before realising that he was already up. Bad used both Dream and Ant’s hands as he scrambled up the edge, but his foot caught something solid and pulled it out of the ditch’s wall, letting it roll into the mulch of leaves below. 

“Is that a brick?” Ant asked, looking down at it. 

It certainly looked like one, with squared off edges from where it had been embedded in the earth; a lonely, forgotten thing. It was the only brick they could see, taking the time to kick at the top of the ditch as if it would reveal more, but all they found were more roots, mounds of earth and piles of leaves. 

“Weird,” Skeppy said, “Hey Dream, you’ve been wondering around for a while, right?”

Their masks looked at one another. 

“Yeah,” he agreed. 

“Were there a lot of old buildings where you went?”

Dream thought about it for a moment, looking back on where he had been since leaving the first one with George, and… blanked. There was plenty since he met George, but before that, there was hardly anything at all. 

He hummed an agreement for lack of anything better to say, and Skeppy seemed to accept it voicelessly, continuing on without another word. Dream was behind both Skeppy and Bad now, with Ant bringing up the rear and making sure nothing nefarious was following them, but the woods, save for the calls of pigeons and the occasional crow, were quiet. 

He doubted anything would follow them, or even just Dream by himself. It never payed to be careful, though, and he listened carefully in case anything changed. 

Eventually, they found a carved-out path through the underbrush and followed it a short while. The distance between Bad’s house and the home of the other two couldn't have taken more than five minutes or so to cross, and for Dream it usually would have taken less, but with three people who all bickered and stopped to look around constantly it took far longer. The path stretched on ahead, with tree stumps and cut off bushes creating ruts that they (as in, anyone but Dream) tripped on, until they eventually turned a corner and came across an open area, with one house that was complete, and two empty shells of what looked to be a barn and some kind of grain store. 

It was a fairly standard cottage, with a new looking thatched roof that Dream didn't doubt came from the field he had crossed to get there, and a large weathervane on the roof that looked like some kind of bird. The door was solid, new as well, and without windows. The house had two gaping maws on the front of the house with shutters on both sides, no glass. 

Nothing grew in a large circle around all three buildings, with the earth being scorched and brown with lifeless grass, and a few of the trees nearby were dead or burnt too, a hollow shell of what they once were, sort of like the buildings. 

The four of them didn't hesitate, though, moving forward through the burnt grass and towards the scorched stone house. 

Once inside, Dream took note of the chaotic interior. Where Bad’s house was almost oppressively neat, it seemed Skeppy and Ant were the two to take whatever he threw away. There was a table covered in half stitched leathers and fabric, with a chair beside it with cloth piled high, and a basket filled with scraps and a pair of sewing scissors, and to the right of the sewing area, beneath a window, was a half-broken bookshelf that was covered in trinkets. There was a broken ladder on the far wall, obviously a remnant of what the house was before, and on its rungs hung stuff Dream couldn't identify – chains, thin, with sparkly things on the end, but they looked too rusted to have been made recently. 

The far wall also held two beds, ones that seemed to be created separately but pushed together, no doubt because of the draft coming through the glassless windows. The house smelt like a damp mixture of woodsmoke and age. 

“This is our house,” Skeppy said, breezing through the room and making everything else look washed out in comparison to his outfit, “And don't be mean to it. It took ages to fix.”

“Yeah,” Ant agreed, “It was all, like, filled with this red ivy stuff. It gave us a rash just clearing it but this was the most intact building.”

“Was it Virginia creeper?” Dream asked, thankful to be in a more stable conversation, but the others brushed it aside. 

“Dunno,” they both said. Bad came inside after Dream and closed the heavy door, as if it would do anything to stop the chill breeze from brushing some leaves in through the window. 

“Hey, Dream,” Bad said, “I’ve been meaning to ask, what were your old worlds like?”

Dream looked over to Bad, noticing how the other two didn't seem to care about him not responding immediately, and he took a second before answering to figure out how exactly he could answer without telling him everything. How can he talk about George without actually mentioning him? 

“Uh,” Dream said, “A bit like this one now. Autumnal.” 

“All of them?”

“Huh?”

Bad was looking at him properly now. Ant was poking at the wood stove on the left side of the house, and Skeppy was fussing about in a chest, but Bad was staring at his mask, his eyes bright white and unreadable. Dream put one of his hands in the crook of his elbow, nervous. He didn't want to make a terrible impression. 

“It’s just… uh. Yeah.” 

“Wow. You must have really struggled through all those winters if the autumn was as short as the one in this world.” 

“Yeah, yeah. It was rough. Uhm.”

Bad was still looking at him earnestly, and while Skeppy was busy looking for whatever in the chest, Ant was looking at him now too, half his face disappearing below the collar of his jacket. Something about the druid’s eyes looked strange, definitely inhuman but too close to something Dream knew for him to call it unusual. Maybe Ant was able to turn between a human and a snake or something? 

“What’s wrong?”

Bad asked the question this time, his voice delicate as if he would scare Dream away if he spoke normally. Ant had put down the firewood now, looking at him properly, and Skeppy still, somehow, had not noticed. 

“I just,” Dream said, “There’s so many.”

“Is it hard to explain?”

“No,” Dream went on to say, “It’s like I don't remember them. Like there’s been too many for me to remember at all.”

All of them waited in silence, the only noise coming from whatever Skeppy was doing and from the coo of a pigeon outside, interrupting the quiet with a reminder of how out of their depths they were. Dream realised, in a dislocated way, that they might ask him to leave. Why would they trust someone who doesn't remember where they came from, let alone who they were? 

“What do you mean?” Skeppy asked some time later, “I mean, I get that we can't see your face but you don't seem  _ that  _ old.” 

They were sitting around now, by a low table Ant had managed to pull out of a pile of stuff and on cushions Skeppy had pulled off the beds, and while the wind had picked up outside, the shutters did a lot to keep the draft at bay now that they were closed. The noise it made though, an aching howl that whipped through the trees like some savage beast, kept going even with the doors and shutters trying to keep it out. It was gearing up to be an awful night, but it was too early to tell if it would rain or snow. One of them for certain. The weather wouldn’t be letting them off that easily. 

Bad poured them all a cup of tea (cinnamon, based on the smell) from a large, steel pot which had a crooked spout, and he took the time to stir a teaspoon of honey into all of the cups until it was dissolved. The lantern on the table was steady, unwavering, and a comforting glow in an uncertain time. It wasn't quite dark outside, but nevertheless, he felt it creeping in. 

“I’m not sure how old I am,” Dream had to admit, “I only remember the past two worlds in detail, but before that it gets blurry.” 

Bad was leaning back in his seat now, and while he just seemed confused, Ant pressed his hand to his mouth as if he was in a moment of great contemplation, thinking about what Dream had said. Hopefully, Ant had a better idea of what was going on because he already seemed like the smarter one of the trio he had found, but Ant had never seen what was happening back in the old camp, or about anything George, Sapnap or himself had seen. 

“How about you tell us everything you  _ do _ remember,” Ant said, not unkind, and he pulled his hand away from his mouth. His thumb was wet, white from the moisture but red where his canine tooth had dug in. His mouth disappeared below the collar of his coat again. 

“I only remember my other world,” Dream said, “and… and this one.” 

“Anything is better than nothing. What was it like waking up, for starters?” 

Skeppy said it as he pulled his cup of ‘tea’ closer to him. He was the only one out of the four who refused the cinnamon and mixed in some kind of potion with the hot water instead. Apparently it had mint in it, but other than that Dream couldn't tell too much about it. 

“I… I need to tell you something first,” Dream said this time, and all three pairs of eyes (even the ones on Skeppy’s mask) turned to him. 

“I met someone in my old world.”

“Okay,” Bad said, “who?” 

“His name was George.”

“George?”

Three voices spoke up at once, with all three of them leaning forward in their chairs and with Skeppy dipping his sleeve into his cup of ‘tea’ and smearing it across the table. The lantern flickered. 

“What do you mean?”

“Where was he?”

“Is he still here? In this world?”

Dream waited for them all to calm down, leaning away as they got closer to him, and he relaxed when they sat back in their chairs. Ant’s eyes were the only ones fully visible, but even Dream could tell that Skeppy and Bad were just as shocked at the revelation, with their body languages being so open. Bad had put both feet on the floor, no longer holding his ankle over his knee, and Skeppy was leaning his elbows on the table. Ant put a hand down flat on the surface between himself and Dream, and he asked the important question.

“Why didn't you tell us sooner?”

A pause.

“George’s friends didn't trust me.”

Bad and Skeppy both made a noise, perhaps in disbelief at the word ‘friends’, but Ant cut them off.

“Do you know why?

“I… I mean, I  _ think _ it’s because of my species.” 

It was a half lie. A damning, broken hearted half lie, which decided it had enough of being settled inside him like a parasite and tore its way out through his oesophagus before he could stop it. Dream didn't want to do it, and he shrunk in on himself as he said the words, but there wasn't an easy way to explain to three strangers why he had decided not to tell them that their friends, or at least people that existed in the same lonely world as them, were alive. 

“But George trusted you?”

“Yeah.”

“So what happened to George?”

“Why are you here?”

“What do you mean ‘friends’?”

“Guys,” Ant said, “look, one question at a time, okay?”

A still silence settled on them as Ant glanced between them and then returned his attention to Dream. The world outside had turned to dusk and the wind stopped, dead. As Ant opened his mouth, teeth visible and sharp behind the collar of his coat, a noise sounded from the door.

A knock. Clear as a bell.

Dream stilled, closed his eyes and wished he was dead, before he dragged his head around to look at the front door which sat, innocent, and directly behind him. 

“I’ll get it!” Bad said.

He jumped towards the door before Dream could say a word. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Updates will be coming every day from now on, just to get it out of my way sooner so I can focus on work 😅


	7. Chapter 6: First Frost

It had been a bitterly cold morning, with the sun not rising until mid-morning and frost coating every surface, but Techno had to admit how that morning he didn't even want to entertain the thought of getting out of bed. It was one of _those_ days, it seemed, where everything was moving on without him, and yet he still stood, a solid wall in the cramped space of Niki and Wilbur’s (and Fundy’s, he supposed) kitchen, where the four chairs were taken up by George, Niki, Wilbur and Tubbo, while Sapnap, Fundy, Phil, Tommy and he were standing against each wall. The table had nine cups on it, three with tea, one with water, and five with some kind of dandelion coffee, three of which had milk. 

Wilbur’s house was a cramped affair at the best of times, but with the man’s need for space in central areas, there was stuff lining the walls with the table in the middle of the room mostly bare. The counters all had baskets of fruit, vegetables, loaves of bread or other baked goods. Garlic strings hung from the ceiling in big bunches, almost low enough to knock against their heads, and onions were in a big tub beside the door, some of which were still covered in soil. Jars were lined up neatly in crates, ready to be transferred over to what was Dream’s house before it started to be used for storage. The only window in the room faced south, and so what light did hit the settlement streamed into the kitchen too, but Techno blocked most of it with his body even when he tried not to. 

It’s just that the kitchen was tight with all of them in it. It usually only had three at most, so nine was a stretch, but they had to make it work. Other than the big work table in Sapnap’s house, which was usually filled with a variety of sharp tools, this was the only real meeting place that they could all get into. Eventually they’d make a proper hub building, one with storage and a table with seats for all of them, but for now Techno could only dream of it. Dream’s house was a mess, one collapsing on its side like it couldn’t keep itself upright, but for now there were better things to think of.

Speaking of which; George had taken his comment seriously, apparently. 

_‘You could always go and look for him, you know_.’

Techno was just thankful that George nor Tommy mentioned how it was him to put the thought in the man’s head. 

“I _get_ that you don't care about him!” George was shouting. Why did he always have to shout? “I _get_ that, so none of you don't have to come! But if he hibernates out there then he’s stuck there all winter, and who knows how he’ll handle it alone? I should just go.”

“Hibernate?” Wilbur said, looking up at George. His eyes were a chestnut colour, no longer the deep, muddy brown they had always been before. George waved his hand as if it could wave away Wilbur’s concern. Niki put a hand on his leg. 

“What if _you_ get stuck out there alone, huh?” Sapnap was yelling too now, his patience worn thin to the point of it being unusable, “Who do you want to drag you back? Who do you want to put in danger as well?”

“I’m an adult, _Sapnap_ ,” George spat, “If I get stuck then I’ll deal with it.”

Phil interjected, as done with the shouting as Techno was, and while his voice was calm his eyes were tired, “And if you die? How will we know to stop looking for you? How will you handle another world if no one else, including Dream, is there?” 

“I think we should go look for him after winter,” Fundy said, looking between everyone but still avoiding Wilbur’s face, “You said he hibernates, right? He wouldn't go out on his own if he couldn't deal with this himself.” 

“But with everything going on…” Niki shrugged, “I don't think we should leave him out there forever. Whether you,” she tilted her head at George, “trust him or not. But yeah, we should wait until spring if we do it at all.”

“What’s the worst he can do?” Tubbo asked, speaking up for the first time since he entered the room, “He’s just a tree guy. If anything he seemed more socially awkward than evil.”

“He’s not evil,” George said, “you all just don't trust him, even though you hardly knew him. How can you think someone is evil if you don't know them properly?” 

“I think he can handle himself,” Sapnap insisted and didn't listen to George intentionally, “And if he wants to go out on this ‘spiritual journey’ or whatever alone? I say let him.” 

“And if he’s trying to do something to us? Like find the other tree-people?” Wilbur scoffed, “There’s still at least three of them out there, and if what you said is true,” he pointed to George, “Then they can regrow.”

“I don't think it’d take one season to make another one, probably way more,” George said, leaning forward towards Wilbur as he did, “And why would it matter to you?”

“It _matters_ ,” Niki said, “because there’s people in this room other than himself. I didn't even have a copy. You all said that you didn't see another one of me in the portal. Who’s to say that another me will not come popping out of nowhere?” 

She didn't necessarily sound scared but Niki’s voice wobbled towards the end of her statement, something almost like loss or regret tainting the words. It was a curious observation to make, but the conversation went on before Techno could wonder about it further. 

George leaned back in his chair again, rubbing his eyes and knocking his glasses up onto his forehead. Techno just looked between everyone, from Phil who was usually the calmest and looked like he was about to go off like a powder keg, to Sapnap who was typically the most forward and was almost physically restraining himself from saying anything further. Sapnap had said to Phil that he would try and talk to George about all this, about Dream’s disappearance not really being his fault but he had still contributed to it, and about how he and George had to try and get on better terms with one another, but obviously George wasn't making the same motions. Nothing would get done with only one person trying, and it seemed that until this situation was fixed then George would continue with his single-minded goal. 

“Okay, after considering it, I think,” Fundy said and he ignored Tommy’s eyebrow raise, yet still his voice wavered and he had to repeat himself, “I think that maybe we should look for him. Now hear me out!” 

Everyone had opened their mouths, save maybe Techno and Tubbo, and they closed them again.

“I think we should go look for him for a few reasons, okay?”

Phil nodded for him to keep going, and the half-druid took a deep breath. 

“Okay, so It’s pretty obvious that waiting isn't going to solve this. There’s too many emotions, too many thoughts being accounted for, and we’ll never have a single solution that fits everyone. So let’s say that we don't know what’s going on with Dream. Let’s consider for the people in this camp that don't trust him, you know, Wilbur, Niki, Sapnap, he is doing something awful out there. If we go and find him doing something like that, then we can stop him, yeah? And so for the camp that _does_ trust him,” he looked at George, “we find him, he’s maybe struggling, or he’s doing just fine, and we can convince him to come back. He’ll prove himself to, you know, whoever he’s wronged or whatever, and hopefully he’ll want to stick with us. Woohoo. 

“And finally,” Fundy said, and it seemed he could tell that no one wanted him to keep talking, “For the neutral parties – you know, me, Techno, Phil, whoever – we can _finally_ get around to not focusing on the green boy and instead on getting ready for winter. Even if we go just to give George a piece of mind and we don't actually find him, I think it’s worth setting aside a few days before the snow sets in for it.” 

There was a pause, weighty, and Fundy receded into himself as he waited for someone, anyone to say anything. Unfortunately, the worst person to speak up did. 

“I think I should go!” Tommy said.

“No,” Phil said.

“No,” George said.

“No,” Wilbur said.

“No,” Niki said.

“No,” Sapnap said. 

“No,” Fundy said.

“No,” Tubbo said.

“Tubbo, why not?” Tommy asked, “I get why everyone else said no, but why you?”

The youngest in the group gave him some unshakable reasoning, and said with an air of omniscience, “If you go then I have to go, and I don't want to.”

“That’s fair.” 

Techno moved for the first time in the whole conversation, taking a step forward and clearing his throat to gain the attention of the room before he opened his mouth to speak. 

“I think George, Sapnap and Fundy should go,” he said, and expected the few eyebrows that rose. 

“Why me?” Sapnap asked.

“Well, if Dream is lying and didn't want to come back because he was upset at you being hostile, then it would be good for you to go so you can apologise then and there, rather than relying on the good word of others to do a good apology for you. Also, if Dream _is_ untrustworthy, then you and your sword are as good a defender as any.

“George should go for obvious reasons. Fundy should go because he’s our survival guy, other than Phil, but since you’re a half-druid like me, you’ve still got all the tracking instincts an actual fox would have, so if Dream does hibernate under the snow you have the best chance at finding him. Not to mention, a long-to-mid range weapon like your crossbow is good not only in forests but open spaces. It means a good way to hunt if winter sets in early or before you get back. Also, you seem pretty neutral on this topic so far.”

Fundy sputtered, opening his mouth and closing it again, but everyone else already seemed to be in agreement, nodding along with what Techno had said and instead looking expectantly at the other three. 

Sapnap didn't look upset with Techno’s suggestion, just a little bemused and possibly disappointed, resigning himself to something that he really didn't want to do but had to. Fundy’s ears were flat on his head, his eyes wider than before like he was regretting speaking up earlier, and George just seemed relieved that his suggestion had not ended up with him being killed.

“So are we settled?” Phil asked, stepping forward as well, “The rest of us will stay here and prepare for winter, yeah? There’s a hundred things to do, but since we’ve made good progress… we should be okay.”

“Right,” George said and stood, finally ready to take action rather than wait around and look sour. He continued, putting his hands together as he looked around the room at them all, and said, “Let’s get ready.” 


	8. Chapter 7: Infestation

Like a cat being exposed to water, the darkness shot back from Bad, who stood inside the light of the house. Bad didn't notice the movement – why would he? – and stood out on the threshold without an ounce of fear. Ant seemed to jump, but Dream wasn’t looking. 

“Huh,” he said, “No one’s here.” 

Dream stood, catching his chair before it smacked into the floor with a massive bang, and he grabbed the lantern from the centre of the table to bring it closer to where Bad was standing just outside. As he did, the darkness wavered and withdrew, seemingly content to linger on either side of the door and only withdraw directly in front of them, but Bad didn't seem to notice. But then again, why would he? He wasn't a tree-person, after all. 

“There… doesn't seem to be anyone out here,” Bad said as he glanced back at Dream, who held the lantern over the threshold. 

Dream waved the lantern from side to side, watching as the darkness shifted, wavered, like a touch-me-not shying away from a hand, and he looked up. He heard Ant stand, or Skeppy, but he couldn’t tell who. He didn’t turn his head to look.

A new moon, no different from before. Outside of the lantern’s gentle glow he couldn't see anything, other than scorched earth and the occasional burnt stick. But this had to _mean_ something, right? The darkness wouldn't just disappear without a reason, or reappear without one either. So what did it mean?

“Uhm,” Dream said, “Can you guys stay here?” 

“Why?” Skeppy asked as he and Ant came to the door. Bad came back into the house, leaving the threshold to be enclosed in darkness once more. 

“It’s just. I know what’s out there.” 

“What is it?”

“George… George called it a grue? I just call it darkness, but this is the thing. It is invisible, usually, but it… it bites, and it kills, and it’s something I’ve dealt with before. But now it's _back_ , and I don't know why.”

“Can you guys see it moving?” Ant asked, and in the light of the lantern his pupils were smaller, thinned like the eyes of a cat. Something told Dream that it was due to the fact that he was a druid, but there wasn't anything proving it until Ant curled in on himself, growing small, and turning into a brown footed and faced cat, and he had a thin, blue ribbon around his neck, which had previously been disguised by the coat. The process took less than a second, but there was no mistaking that the feline was Ant. 

He strutted forward out onto the threshold, looking around with his nose twitching and seeing if he could see any further than the rest of them. Dream definitely noticed it moving, the darkness curled like smoke on the edges of the light’s reach, but Bad and Skeppy just looked at one another, face to unreadable face. Ant pulled his paw back into the house, his whiskers twitching. He hissed. 

“No?” Skeppy said in response to Ant’s question from before, and Ant looked up at him. 

“Please stay here?” Dream said, still holding the lantern.

Bad crossed his arms while Skeppy disappeared into the house, not quite far enough to be engulfed in the shadows across the room, but far enough to slip mostly out the light. Dream could hear a clattering as Skeppy looked for something, but Bad drew his attention back by picking up Ant, holding him in his arms like a baby. Ant, weirdly, mewled. 

“Why don't you want us to go? Other than it being dangerous,” Bad paused to hoik Ant up, stopping him from slipping down through his arms. Ant didn't seem to mind, and he didn't seem to mind the fact that he was a bit too big for Bad to hold. 

“Just…” Dream didn't have a better answer, “The darkness has killed me thousands of times, I don't remember it but I _feel_ it, and I don't want that to happen to any of you.” 

“Yeah, well, I don't want you going alone.”

Skeppy appeared with an oil lamp in hand, holding it out for Dream to light, and when he handed it back Skeppy spoke up. 

“No, I want to go too,” he said, the fire lighting up his mask and making it appear green, “I think it’s cool, and I don't want to be left out. Besides,” he swapped his oil burner with Bad, and held up Ant in front of him like a dangerous artifact. Ant blinked at Dream, his cheeks huge from where his skin was being rode up. Skeppy continued, “If Ant can see in the dark, and can see where the darkness is like you, surely we’ll be fine, right?” 

Dream sighed, looking out at the night before turning back to the trio and nodding. 

“Alright,” he said, “but stay close to me.” 

Bad grabbed Dream by his other hand, the one not holding the lantern, and Dream looked back in time to see Skeppy taking Bad’s hand as well, with Ant clambering up onto Bad’s shoulder despite being a bit too big for it, and they went forward, leaving the house in darkness. 

At first it wasn't so bad, with the noise of them walking through the branches and dead bits of wood keeping them company, not to mention Bad’s nervous humming stopping them from being in complete silence. Dream was tempted to speak up, say something along the lines of ‘you guys are doing well’, but nothing felt appropriate. Eventually they left the circle around the three abandoned houses and were actually inside the forest, and with only around two metres of visible space around them it was so much worse than he could have imagined. 

In the day time the forest had not looked half bad, but now, at night, after the wind had ripped every last leaf from the trees and a gentle snow was starting to set in, everything looked unsettlingly different, like the forest was being created just outside their field of view. When there was no texture in the forest, no trees or branches lit up, everywhere he looked was something horrible, waiting just outside his field of view to appear. 

Dream struggled to return his gaze to the forest floor before him, to the path, and his eyes flickered the trees and brambles around them. He tried in vain to distinguish one landmark from another, but it all just blurred together in a kaleidoscope of rotting browns and thorned holly bushes, turned yellow by the lantern in his hand. 

They passed the rotting stump of a fallen tree, its remaining surface jagged and unnatural looking in the low evening light, and as they walked, its shape changed with the shadows and made its appearance change from one unknown emotion to another, morphing seamlessly like a face. Parts of it were covered in a thin layer of snow, too, smothering it and warping it further. Dream couldn't help but keep an eye on it as they passed, until they moved past it so that it lingered behind them. 

Bad held on to the back of Dream’s jacket, and Ant was on his shoulder (still in his cat form) and watched everything they passed, with Skeppy holding Bad’s other hand in his own as if he would immediately be lost without it. The forest groaned in the cold, settling after being warmed in the sun for so long, and the way it snapped and shuddered reminded Dream of an old tree getting ready to keel over. Nothing actually fell, though. The only other sounds came from their feet in the snow, their laboured breaths and the distant sound of twigs snapping. 

But before him, Dream could see the way the darkness slunk back, retreating from the light in a specific way that was leading them somewhere specific. 

They had arrived at the ditch they had crossed earlier (had it really been that same day? It seemed like ages ago) and Dream had to let go of Bad’s hand in order to slide down and avoid breaking his ankle in the snow, and he helped Bad down too. Skeppy slipped after them as Dream struggled up the other side, the snow soaking his trouser legs and staining them darker, colder, and he reached down again to help Bad and Skeppy back up again. 

They were on the thinner path towards Bad’s tower. 

Dream had a pit in his stomach. The other tower had a basement, didn't it? Like the one they found the portal in before. 

But then he stopped. The others paused just behind him, bumping into him slightly as they peaked over the taller man’s shoulder, and then they held their breath too.

Somewhere before them (it was difficult to tell how far with the foliage being in the way), a great, white stag stood in the forest. It wasn’t near to them, that much Dream could see, but it was at enough of a distance that it didn’t see them in the lantern light immediately. It’s huge antlers twisted as it turned to look away from them, and one of its fore-hooves rose into the air as it assessed its surroundings, but then it turned to look in their direction.

It startled. Dream took a step back into Bad, who gasped at the unexpected movement, but as quick as they had seen the deer it was gone, not a whisp of white left in its wake.

Ant seemed to forget that he couldn't speak and meowed instead, but he shuffled forward off of Bad’s shoulder and clawed his way up onto Dream’s one instead, their faces pressed cheek to cheek. He couldn't tell if Ant wanted a better view or felt safer, but either way the comfort was a welcome one. 

“What was that? An elk?” Skeppy asked from behind, “I couldn’t see. Your stupid heads were in the way.”

“Just a deer,” Dream said, “a white one though, so it stood out. Just scared me, is all.”

“That didn’t look like a deer,” Bad said, his eyes looking worried, “not like a normal one.”

“It was probably just albino,” Skeppy dismissed, pushing Bad into Dream and Ant, “come _on_. I’m freezing. Can we go?”

Dream swallowed, raising his free hand to Ant and letting the druid put his paw onto it. There was something wrong. Something deeply, terribly wrong with the world, but under the cover of the darkness and the soon-to-be blanket of snow, it was becoming more and more difficult to tell what exactly it was that threatened them. As they kept moving, he realised something.

“I think it’s going to your house,” Dream said quietly, as if someone was listening in on their private conversation. Hidden in the darkness, there might have been. “I’ve seen a tower like yours before. Does it have a basement?”

“I mean,” Bad whispered back, “It does but I couldn't go down.”

“Why?”

“It was filled with some kind of plant.”

Skeppy spoke up, “What are you guys whispering about?”

“Bad’s basement.”

“Bad doesn't have a basement.”

Bad seemed to do something that made Skeppy stop.

“What?”

“I do,” Bad said, “It’s under the carpet usually.”

“Why haven’t we gone down there? Is it new? A secret?”

“It was filled with some kind of plant.”

“Boring.”

“Guys,” Dream said, “It’s definitely going to your house.”

Dream held the lantern up above his head to show them all where they were, and in the light the wet stones of Bad’s tower shone, and the vines crawling up the sides cast a weird shade over it, morphing the structure between natural and unnatural. Inside was unlit, and Bad let go of both Skeppy and Dream to open the door. Dream let Bad take the lantern before ducking inside after him. 

Within the house was far more sinister than it was when Dream was staying there before, but Bad hurried to light every available lantern, torch and even the stove to try and let some heat into the frigid building. The staircase upwards had some of the darkness still lingering on it, but for the most part the room was bright. 

Skeppy asked the important question.

“So where do we go now?” 

Dream looked over to the trapdoors, the one Bad apparently kept covered with the carpet but was exposed now, and he could feel Ant shift from where he was clawed to his shoulder. The basement, the stronghold of the tower was waiting patiently for them. The darkness seeped between the cracks in the wood, like a visible gas that twirled in the air and faded in the light. Dream swallowed, hearing it click on the way down. 

“Down, I guess,” he said, not really hearing himself. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Things are starting to pick up in the story, huh? Next chapter will be shorter, but hopefully the two 4k chapters coming up afterwards will make up for it. 
> 
> Please let me know what you think!


	9. Chapter 8: Whispers

He couldn't hear himself think with everyone talking over one another, but there wasn't an easy way to leave until George, Sapnap and Fundy made their way into the great unknown. None of them had been further west than the settlement or its immediate vicinity, and with an ambiguous amount of time between them and finding Dream, it was a daunting task if nothing else. 

For Techno, though, it was a relief. A temporary one, but nevertheless, the phrase ‘any port in a storm’ came to mind, as _something_ happening with the Dream situation was better than George being a dark cloud, Sapnap somehow managing to be an even darker one, and everyone else walking around on tiptoes, as if a slight rustle of the leaves could set the other two off. 

On occasion, it had. 

So, even though Techno _did_ feel a little guilty at sending Fundy off with them, with his tail between his legs and his crossbow shaking in his hands, it at least meant a welcome break for the rest of them. But Techno knew that time was short. Dream had left for a reason, a reason he seemed to believe wasn't going to be around forever, and Techno had somewhat of a similar inclination. There just wasn't much time. There was never enough time. 

“Stay safe, okay?” Phil was telling them all in turn, taking his time in making sure each of the three would receive his blessing. Poor Phil seemed to regret sending them off, in a similar way to how Techno’s parents had tearfully waved he and his siblings off to war, but at least Phil wasn't crying. Yet. 

“Don't do anything I wouldn't do,” Tommy told Sapnap specifically, and he raised an eyebrow at the younger man’s words. 

“So do anything and everything. Got it.”

Techno took a few steps closer, approaching Fundy and George as they talked to Niki, and when she noticed him come closer she stood to one side so that he could bid his farewell wishes. She was smiling at him. 

“Good luck,” Techno said to the other two, “And I hope you find him.”

George looked at him, somewhere between confused and thankful at the words. “I thought you didn't like Dream?” George asked him, and Fundy and Niki looked up at him too. 

“I don't _mind_ him,” Techno said, “But it’s worse seeing the settlement all… messed up. You’ve been taking it hard since he left.”

“Y-yeah…”

“I just want normality,” he continued, “The mundane. It’s a shame about Dream leaving, but you guys going to find him seems like the easiest way to get it back to normal around here.”

“I don't think it will ever be totally normal,” Fundy said, “With everything that’s happened.”

“Do you only want him back for that?”

George was raising an eyebrow at him as if it would make Techno feel bad for admitting his feelings, but he could only shrug.

“I want you to be happy,” Techno told him, “I want all of us to be happy, and I want normality for _all_ of us, not just me. Is that so wrong?”

He shrugged, not really responding. 

George was finally wearing some weather appropriate clothing, something made from deer hide that was still spotted in certain places, but it was well made and would hopefully keep him dry and warm for the journey. The only part Techno had taken problem with was that he had dyed it a mottled dark blue, ruining the original brown of the leather. It was just irresponsible to ruin something that could last ages for the sake of your own image, and while George was pleased, it wasn’t the greatest to look at.

“What are you going to do when we’re gone?” Fundy asked him, genuinely curious. It was like he was envious already of whatever task he could have been doing instead, and Techno took great pleasure in brushing him off. 

“Eh,” he said, “you know. Farming, pickling, jamming jarring…” 

Techno trailed off when Niki caught on to what he was doing.

“Oh, yeah,” she said, “and packing, fishing, baking and sorting.”

“Don't make potato bread,” Fundy pleaded with her. She frowned. 

“Please do, and anyway, we’ll make sure to do all the cool stuff,” Techno nodded with what Niki said, “Since most of the harvest is done it’s just processing and storing it. But, ugh, you know how much I hate cooking.”

“... Screw you guys,” Fundy said, with his lips pressed tightly together and gripping his crossbow while glaring at them, but he just turned away, going to join Sapnap instead of dealing with them any further. 

“But yeah,” Niki said to George now, “Make it back safe.”

“Nothing will have changed by the time you get back,” Techno assured him, “apart from maybe the weather.” 

“Do you have any other words, oh wise old pig?” George teased. 

“I’m not old. But seriously, get shelter tonight, and if nothing happens tonight, then tomorrow,” Techno told him with a sombre tone lingering on his words, “If you get somewhere exposed I’d say go back to the treeline.”

“Why?”

“I think the world is gearing up for an awful storm, but it’s too early to tell if it’s going to be rain or snow.”

“If you had to guess?”

“Snow, tomorrow night. The dry and clear weather over the past couple of days means it will stick around, too.” 

George looked at him from the corner of his eye, looking at Techno’s face to see if he was being disingenuous before glancing at his empty hands, his lack of a crown, and the heavy cloak covering most of his torso. 

“Thanks,” George said, “You take care of yourself too.”

Techno smiled.

“I intend to.”

The harsh light of day had sunk into the harsher darkness of the night-time, and Techno’s house felt cold as he sat at the table on the top floor, his papers spread in a fan around him and books piled up on the other side of the table in two sort-of even piles. He had a lantern to light up the gloom, but the spaces between the books, around the edges of the room and under the desk were still dark. 

It seemed that the weather, rain or snow, would be coming tomorrow instead. It was currently dry, although Techno couldn't tell how much longer it would be that way, and with all the thoughts spiralling in his head he could hardly focus on, let alone apply himself to, the workings before him.

There was too much. There was just far too much.

Techno looked to the papers scattered before him, not registering what he was seeing but thinking about it nonetheless. There was a choice to be made, one hinging on that night which would pass like a cloud overhead if he didn't take the chance. He only had so much time, and never enough of it. It should have been made obvious sooner that he didn't have all eternity to decide. Years, months, weeks, days, hours, minutes, seconds, and for what?

He’d thought enough. The moment announced itself and before Techno could second guess himself again, for what would have been the final time, he stood. 

Fortune favours the brave, or so it was said, and Techno sure hoped that _Fortuna_ herself would crown him worthy of her blessing. He couldn't help but feel uncertain, dragging his cloven hooves over the wooden floors of his home as he reached for his cloak and his sword. The grooves wouldn't last forever. Very few things would. 

Some facts about life would forever hold their virtues; Mules were not scholars, oxen were not nobles, birds were not despots, and hogs or pigs were churchmen nor kings. 

Techno wasn't expecting to be crowned upon his return, to be declared a scholar, a noble or a ruler of some great land. He didn't expect to be awarded roses or coins, riches in gold and silver, but Techno was nothing if not independent. He didn't need _Fortuna_ , his friends, or anyone else to crown him. He had two hands. He could do it himself. 

So he did.

Without bending his head, exposing no neck, Techno raised his bejewelled crown above his head and set it in its rightful place. He wouldn’t need to write an allegory.

The half-druid grinned, the wet scar on his lip exposing itself from behind his tusk. After all, what was the point of an allegory if you could outlive it? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a shorter, weirder chapter, but hopefully Techno's unknown ramblings will make up for it a little. All will be cleared up soon ;) 
> 
> Thank you to all the 10/10 people who have left comments/kudos/bookmarks so far. You rock <3


	10. Chapter 9: Standoff

This was a turning point, Dream realised as Ant’s claws sank into the flesh of his shoulder and threatened to make his skin start weeping, this was a turning point where he either found what he was looking for or would leave empty handed. If he left at all. 

“I did say you should have stayed at the house,” Dream told Bad as he trailed a palm over the uneven walls of the spiral staircase leading downwards, his hands grasping onto the cornus that reached to them from holes in the walls like a bunch of violent, red hands. 

“That’s before we realised that Bad’s house is cursed,” Skeppy told him, “Because yeah, for the record, if I knew about this then I would have stayed and left you three to get yourselves killed.”

Ant meowed. 

The walls of the staircase, similar to the rest of the tower, was made of a kind of dark brick, perhaps basalt, although Dream was never keen on learning about the different types of minerals. He could smell the musty scent of mildew below, as if something made of wood was decaying down there and had yet to be cleared up, but the further down they went the harder it was to continue. It was easy at first, with the cornus coming fourth in small bunches the size of a fist from the walls, fanning out into their space gradually, but the staircase seemed to go on forever, and the deeper they went the thicker the cornus became until it was like an impenetrable patch of brambles; a thick wall before them dissuading them from continuing. 

A seeping ooze came from the cornus when they eventually had to slice at it to get through, and Bad’s iron sword was wet with the sap to the point where it dripped down the handle, sticking to his hand and staining the palm of his gloves red. Strangely, the inside of the cornus’ were new and green, and Dream noticed that the red colour on the outside must have been from the cornus’ reaction to the cold. They were deciduous, it seemed, and the green insides were one last gasp of their former, summertime selves. 

The staircase’s ceiling above them was unlit, and as Bad cut at the cornus Dream (and Ant, though he couldn't mention it) could see the darkness retreating as its hiding places among the thick branches was revealed. It was like exposing a nest beneath a bush, where the animals scattered at the slightest movement and immediately hid underneath whatever they could find. In the case of the darkness, it sunk back, or retreated behind Skeppy to encroach on its disrupted home once again. 

Bad, reluctantly, was in front, leaving both Dream and Skeppy with the lanterns as he hacked his way through. The sap was making it harder for the sword to maintain a sharp edge, and wiping it down with the ends of his coat did nothing but stain his clothing, not removing it from the blade at all. 

“Do you know how much further?” Bad asked, his voice wary. 

“How would I know?” Skeppy asked, his own mask appearing over Dream’s shoulder, “You’re the one that owns this place!” 

“I’ve never been down here!” Bad turned back to yell at Skeppy, and in between the two Dream just looked at them. “And it wasn’t like I was talking to you. I’m not omniscient, Skeppy. I don't know these things automatically!” 

“If you guys are going to argue,” he said before either of them could continue, “At least let me in front so I can keep going.” 

“Ant, are you staying with Dream?” Skeppy asked the cat on Dream’s shoulder, and he could feel Ant’s little soft face brush against him in a nod. 

“I’ll use my sword,” Dream said, “in case you two run into trouble. Just yell.”

“Uh-huh,” they both said and turned back to one another, letting Dream move on. 

With Ant still on his shoulder, Dream guided his way through the cornus with precise movements, trying not to let it get too close to them both. The further down the two of them went, the less they could hear Bad and Skeppy’s conversation, but eventually, after the cornus had become the thickest and most oppressive that they’d encountered so far, the way cleared. 

The stronghold was both similar and different to the one Dream and the others had been in before, but what struck him immediately was the lack of light, which sounded dumb in his head considering they had been in the same situation before. When the other’s had eventually let him out of the cell they had trapped him in, there was a white, shimmering portal in a different room, which let out an intense lime light across the stronghold, scattering across the waterlogged floor and over the ash leaves on the ceiling, but this stronghold had no portal, and thus, no light. The ceiling was covered in cornus, dripping down in great reaches of fibre towards him and Ant, and at points he needed to duck to pass under it. 

When he eventually found his way across the room, using the lantern to scatter more light across the black walls, he found the remnants of a portal, rotten and warped. The same woven structure that had made up the other one was here too, but it was sickly, weak, and no longer in use. An eerie, distant noise came from Dream’s left, and both he and Ant swivelled around to look. There was another cornus infested corridor with an overgrowth spilling over the floors, and all it did was led into the darkness. The noise whispered at them again. 

Ant seemed to hesitate, but with Dream holding the light and being his vehicle, he hand no choice but to join the blonde into the depths. 

The noise from before, a scrape on wood sort of noise, came again from further in. They had gone so far that the lantern could no longer reach the main area with the ruined portal and the staircase out, but in the gentle glow of the lantern they could see the shadows warp and sway to avoid the light, like a thing of evil, and it waited for them to leave so it could move back. 

And eventually something caught his eye. 

A room which stood open and unentered awaited on the right side of the corridor, and while it initially didn’t seem like anything special, Dream hesitated. The feeling that had plagued him returned slowly, and he felt as if he knew this place. The scaping noise came from a different direction which was further away, but the doorway beckoned, waited, and Dream raised one hand to touch Ant who was still on his shoulder. 

“I think I should go in here,” he told the druid, “It might be important.”

Ant meowed and sank his claws in. 

Dream approached the room which had not yet been invaded by the cornus, and it stood doorless and unwelcoming before them like a tunnel which could have gone on forever. There was a room at the end though, through a doorway that must have been double locked at one point in time for the rusted hinges were in two sets, remaining bolted to the wall and dry. Dream trailed his free hand over them, his fingers picking up the earthen red colour and staining them. He was willing to leave the dead metal to pool on his fingers if it meant that he didn’t stain his clothing, and if the wetness of the rust wasn’t enough, it became an iron sea in the palm of his hand. He sighed and wiped his hand on his trouser legs, more than aware that it would stain his now white winter clothing.

As he entered the room he stepped around a pile of broken wood which was probably a table, only recognisable because of its shape because really he only saw it as a pile of mush, decomposed and long since returned to earth. He continued into the strong-smelling gloom and held the lantern high for both his sake and Ants, but as he trailed it across the room the light caught on something, passing over its face and disappearing back into the darkness without movement or words. But Dream wasn’t content to let it live without him seeing what it was, so he went down, minding Ant on his shoulder, and kneeled to take a closer look to it. 

Ceramic. Porcelain. Able to withstand the test of time it had been given but unable to avoid discolouration in the process – his own mask smiled at him. 

Ant adjusted himself on Dream’s shoulder, and while he was tempted to reach back and touch or comfort him, he was helpless to do anything but stare. The mask was exactly like his own, aside from the material it was made from. From the shape of the eye holes to the chip on the chin of it, Dream knew that it was his. He had died here. A past self so muddled in… in a history which he didn’t recognise it at all. 

With the delicate care of any archaeologist, Dream put the lantern down to pick up the mask in both hands, and he held it up before him. The light fell through the eyes and mouth holes, touching his own face in the same places. 

“That’s… that’s mine,” Dream whispered.

Ant meowed again, coming off his shoulder to sit between Dream and the lantern. Ant put one of his little paws on Dream’s hand as if it would do something other than distract him, and to be fair, that may have been all Ant needed to do. Dream lowered the mask to the floor gently. If he had broken his only piece of history in that moment he... he wouldn’t know what to do. The mask was filthy, but Ant’s paw had wiped some of the encrusted earth from its surface, and it shone back a pure, uninterrupted white. Where Dream’s current mask was stained with bone and clay, this one… this one was pure in a way that he himself would never hope of being. This one knew what it was, who it was, and who it was trying to become. Dream’s own mask was a confused, convoluted attempt at the same process: intimidation without success. 

But putting the porcelain mask on would be… wrong, somehow. It was no longer a representation of who he was trying to become but rather who he was in the past. Memories had come from seeing it. Family. People he considered equal, but never their names or faces. He remembered gestures, actions. He remembered liking bread, and travelling a lot. There was a time where he… he made a black tower with a different set of people. He used to own a horse, one called Pecan or Chestnut or… and… and he cut back ash trees as if they were an extension of himself. He ate wild deer and… he dipped his feet in the river to cool off, holding someone else between his knees to do the same. 

The mask stared at him. Dream had both lived that life and ended it. 

The scraping noise was no louder than before, but Dream raised his head to look up at the wall instead of at the mask. The mask still looked at him.

The wall held etchings, markings deep in the stone like a map. Walls, canals, buildings, pens for animals and fields. There was a carving of a snake in an ocean as if to ward off adventurers, and a hill in the centre of the carving with a wall around it, the middle of the picture, as if it was some sacred place where nothing ought to be built. Dream tilted his head back a little further. There were eight towers, one dead south and on the edge of an ocean, one south west and with an oak leaf beside it. One south east and with a birch leaf. One north with a snowflake. One straight west with a cactus. At the top of the carving were the phases of the moon, only instead of the full moon being in the middle, there was an empty circle. 

It meant nothing. He didn’t recognise the place from before, but he knew it now for something that it never intended to be. 

Since when did they all become so alone?

Dream sighed, looking over to Ant, and as he did the druid climbed back up onto his shoulder, as if to say, ‘yeah, let’s go’. 

Standing up, holding the lantern to the wall one last time, Dream tried to think about who he knew. Who he loved. 

But he could only think of the others he knew now, of Phil and Niki and Sapnap and Bad and George. Their faces overtook actions they never made. 

He turned towards the door, lantern in his right and the new, old, mask in his left, and he returned to the corridor. 

Bad and Skeppy were arguing louder than they had been before, and even with the cornus to absorb the sound of it they were audible where Dream and Ant were. Dream looked back to where their voices were coming from, but the scraping noise came again from his right, from unexplored territory. With Ant moving slightly further on his shoulder and his head craning to look into the darkness in that same direction, Dream shook the haze of whatever emotion had overtaken him and kept moving on. 

Dream turned a corner, stopping so suddenly that Ant had to dig his claws in to stop himself from falling off Dream’s shoulder, but the druid may have been doing it for other reasons too, he supposed. 

“Oh,” he said to him, “It’s you.”

He was hardly visible in the darkness, and while Dream knew that George and Sapnap and whoever else always called them ‘it’, Dream wasn't inclined to. It was obvious that the other-Techno was male, and if the others didn't see that then it wasn't up to him to tell them. 

The noise came from his sword, a bright silvery-green blade made from either a large stone or a tempered metal, and he used it to cut at a woodier looking area of cornus, which grew thick in a large patch on the floor. The other-Techno didn't even look up at him as he and Ant entered the room, but when Dream took a few steps closer to see precisely what the other-Techno was doing, his eyes glanced up at Ant and Dream. From where he was kneeling, his eyes reflected the light, like black onyxes on a heartwood face. 

The other-Techno just looked at them for a moment before continuing with his task. 

“What are you doing?” Dream asked, and Ant’s claws dug into his shoulder as he yowled. 

The other-Techno paused to look at him properly, and he seemed confused. 

“Collecting her?” other-Techno gestured towards the patch of cornus, “Why else would I be here?”

“I don't know,” Dream said. 

There was another pause as the other-Techno returned to his task, cutting away with his great blade. It was almost as long as Bad and Skeppy were tall, but it wasn't high enough to reach Dream’s shoulders. It was eerily similar to Techno’s sword, the one from this world, but Dream guessed that was the point. 

“Is she made from the cornus?” Dream asked this time, even though he couldn't distinguish the ‘she’ in question from the thick patch of branches. 

“Yep,” other-Techno pulled something up from the wild red, and it looked almost like a delicate hand, thin in the fingers and long in the arm, not to mention, there was the impression that the arm had a sleeve. He let it drop again.

“Cool. Are you taking her back to your world?” 

“Your old world you mean?” other-Techno asked, “Yep.”

“Is that where I’m from?”

“Yeah.”

“Why don't I remember it?”

“His brain replaced yours.” 

Dream huffed. 

“I remember hardly anything, his or mine or mine from before.”

“That must suck.” 

“It does,” Dream said, glad to have someone sympathise with him instead of interrogate him over it. With some kind of hope, he asked, “Are you staying long?”

“Just enough to get her. There isn't much time.”

“Are you going through the portal?”

“Not the one here. It’s broken. It’s a shame but,” other-Techno shrugged, pausing his ministrations to do so, “at least the other one still works for now.”

“For now?”

“For now.”

It seems he wouldn't be getting an answer for that one, then, but that was okay. This other-Techno reminded him a lot of when he first met George, way back when he didn't want to answer questions fully but Dream still kept asking them. The good thing was that the other-Techno didn't seem to be getting annoyed in the same way that George did, so hopefully it meant that he could ask some more questions before he departed. 

“Is it something to do with the moon?”

“I haven’t seen the moon in your world. Or mine, actually.”

“Do you know what a moon is?”

“Something that revolves around a planet.”

“Yeah. Ours has faces.”

“Faces?”

“Faces. It changes, and for the past year it’s been stuck on the same face.”

“Funny.”

“Is it to do with the portal?”

The other-Techno shrugged. “How would I know?”

Dream pressed his mouth thin, and he tightened his grip on the porcelain mask in his hand as if he was about to drop it. 

“Will we be seeing you again?” Dream asked. 

“Who?” other-Techno looked at him, “You or your druid friend?”

Ant tensed as other-Techno looked at him, and Dream could feel the way his tail was lashing back and forth against the back of his neck, not to mention the way his back arched against Dream’s skull. He was growling in the way cats did before lashing out.

“Either,” Dream said, reaching with his free hand to touch Ant, hopefully in a calming gesture. The druid’s heart was beating rapidly beneath his little ribcage. 

“You will, but your druid won't. You’ve been alive forever, right?”

“Feels like it.”

“Well, in a few hundred more years it’ll feel like an even longer forever. You’re lucky that you have Wilbur with you now, at least. An eternity alone is never a good one.”

“I’ve seen one.” At least, he thought he had. 

“I know.”

“Do you know me?”

“No, I didn't. But I do now,” other-Techno seemed to resign himself before he stood, the thin limb of red clutched in his hand as a body, one as red and raw as a skinned animal, was revealed from the sliced pieces of cornus and sap. It was indistinguishable as anyone Dream knew, looking almost like a base to create something off of, and as Ant hissed wildly Dream took a step back. With a gentleness Dream had yet to see the Techno he knew use, other-Techno pulled the raw looking body into his arms, his sword now strapped across his back and ready to be pulled free should the tree/pig-man need it. The body in his arms was faceless, although it did still seem to have a nose, and Dream could see the beginnings of teeth around where its mouth might become. 

“You didn't know me before,” Dream said, with a lost kind of hope. 

The other-Techno sighed and said, “I’m only four-hundred. I’m not _that_ old.” 

“How old am I?”

“If you don't know, then we can only guess.”

“So guess.”

“A few thousand,” other-Techno shrugged, “give or take.”

Without speaking up again the other-Techno turned and went for the entrance Dream took into the room, going into the darkness before Dream picked himself up and went to follow. The other-Techno was heading away from the ruined portal, further along the corridor and into the shadows, which swept him up without hesitation. When the only thing visible of other-Techno in the darkness was the glint of his sword, Dream called to him.

“Where are you going?”

Other-Techno turned, and the unearthly way his eyes reflected the light was all Dream or Ant could see.

“Home,” other-Techno said, “before we get stuck here.”

And with that, other-Techno turned his back to him, eaten by the darkness. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope this chapter isn't too wordy. Lots going on today so not much time to edit, but I hope you liked it nonetheless :)


	11. Chapter 10: A Greater Fear

_Dear all,_

_I would say I'm sorry, but I'm not._

_I know what you’re thinking, “Technoblade! How could you do this?” well you see, I want to be immortal. Do you think it’s possible? No, but I've been doing research, I've been dotting my ‘I’s and crossing my ‘T’s and I've compared everyone’s story to one another's and I’ve come to the conclusion that yes, being eaten by your tree-person self does make you immortal._

_And I want you to hear me out here, because I know you’re rolling your eyes. I’ll explain._

_I never went to this ‘other world’ that apparently holds these tree-people. I want to make this clear, because if I am somehow wrong and you all make fun of me when I’m dead I can blame you for getting me killed._

_Again._

_(Tubbo I know it was you who set fire to the powder store in the old world)_

_Anyway..._

_George was talked to by this ‘other-Sapnap’ (Henceforth all ‘other-whoever’s shall be called O-Initial, aside from myself, Tommy and Tubbo) and he claims a few different things. The O-S kept asking George where O-G was, and O-S mentioned that they look for us intentionally. George also said that Sapnap believed they sought us out to become immortal, but Sapnap either didn't confirm this or avoided the question. George also compared it to a brain transplant, hence why Wilbur is still Wilbur and not O-W._

_George, after some questioning, also mentioned that they are made from cornus, or more commonly known as dogwood, which seems to be everywhere. There was one in the settlement before I tore it up, but I doubt it was large enough to produce another tree-person. If there was a large quantity of it somewhere, for example, in the other-world (like what Phil said) then it would make sense for them to be ‘birthed’ in their own world and for them to seek us out when they begin to die._

_Sapnap also mentioned that the O-TE said we were made in their image, but I disagree – we may be made in one another’s images, or together, rather than us being in some kind of cosmic printing press. An intergalactic game of snap between two worlds._

_But yes. I believe that being eaten by your ‘other’ makes you immortal, and what I can understand is that this bridge between worlds isn't going to last forever. I personally believe that these tree-people probably live a long time before decaying, especially since some types of hardwood trees can live for thousands of years at a time, and so if the bridge, or rather portal, was always there then we would have been overrun a long time ago._

_I suspect there’s only so much time left, which is why I’m leaving now._

_Don't look for me, don't do anything stupid, and I’ll be back before winter sets in properly. I’m going to the portal, but I won't go through in case I get stuck. If it comes to it, then I'll wait to see if it closes before returning._

_I’m not sorry, because why WOULDN'T I want to be immortal? I’m already almost unkillable, so why wouldn't I want to be resistant to age too? It’s not like there’s any disadvantages._

_But yeah._

_Wilbur, I’ll join you shortly._

_Tommy, don't do anything stupid._

_Tubbo, keep Tommy out of trouble._

_Niki, your potato bread is incredible, don't listen to Fundy and please make some, even if I won't be able to eat it._

_And Phil, for you, I am sorry. I know you expect me to make better decisions by now, and ones that aren’t selfish or ones that only benefit me, but this is probably the only opportunity left. If these guys live a few hundred years, then there is no way we will be seeing them again. I don't want to be selfish. If I could convince you all to join me and actually pull it off, I would, but that isn't an option anymore. Please, let me have this. I’m sorry._

_But only a little bit. Not enough to stop me._

_Take care,_

_Technoblade._

Bread was a funny thing. It rose, it fell, it was fresh and grew stale, it liked heat and liked the cold, and it was able to be made from things that were not flour or yeast. Corn, potatoes, baking powder or even rice flour – bread wasn't picky, it would take what it could get. Niki could appreciate it for that, especially since it could take a beating, which is what she was doing just then.

Therapy wasn't a thing, unless talking to her friends counted, but when your friends were the ones to annoy you, even if it wasn't something you could really justify being angry about, bread was there to take the fall. Their group was fractured, split at the seams and at a breaking point. They should have waited until spring to search, if they searched at all, but not their group of ten had turned to six, and they were left with the late autumn panic that arrived every year with the first few frosts and oncoming snow. The sky was dark in the distance, Phil said, and they could expect a freezing rain that night at best, or powder snow at worse. 

But bread didn't panic. Bread was bread, and bread by any other name would take just as strong a beating. 

The table shook as she threw the dough down again. There would be enough for six loaves, if Tubbo didn't insist on making hedgehog buns again. Maybe she should let him, for his own little therapy lesson.

“I hate that pig!” 

Niki glanced up from her sourdough, hearing Phil yell through the settlement and disturb a few crows nearby, and she could see Wilbur look up from where he was planting garlic in their window boxes. Tommy started cackling, Tubbo’s laughter following with some hesitation, but then it stopped dead. The stillness of the settlement irked her. Something was wrong.

She and Wilbur glanced at one another across the empty space between them before they both moved over to the bucket of water to wash their dirt and flour coated hands. It was still freezing cold from the frost the night before, but they gritted their teeth and bared before making their way to see what the commotion was with Phil. It sounded like it came from Techno’s house, but until they got closer, it would be hard to tell for sure. 

“What do you think he’s done this time?” Wilbur asked in a hushed voice. 

Niki could only shrug. Techno was nothing if not a wildcard at the best of times, but when they turned the corner to where Phil’s and Techno’s houses branched off, they found who they were looking for. 

Phil was splayed out on the floor, sitting with a hand pressed to his eyes and his hand clutching a letter with a familiar and terrible handwriting on it. Tommy and Tubbo kneeled next to him, waiting to see if he would say anything more or, when they grew closer, talking softly to him. Something was wrong here, very wrong, and Niki could feel herself getting hot with anger at how distraught Phil looked. It was like all his life had been drained from him in a few short hours, and he was near tears. 

“What happened, Phil? What’s wrong?” Wilbur asked him as soon as they got close enough to crouch next to him on the cold earth.

Wilbur had a habit of doing that – addressing others with their name when they were upset, which was something Phil seemed to catch on to considering how he glared with puffy eyes at him. 

“Techno,” he said, “has gone.”

They waited for a moment in silence, and then, chaos. 

“What?”

“Where did he go?”

“Alone?”

“What do you mean gone?”

“He’s _gone_ ,” Phil repeated, hunching over himself, “He’s gone and he’s so _fucking stupid.”_

Normally, they’d laugh at how Phil said ‘stupid’. It wasn't a word he used often, and it sounded like he used two ‘O’s in the middle instead of a ‘U’, which led to a lot of teasing, but the gravity of the moment hit them all in turn,. Even with Tubbo resting a hand on Phil’s shoulder, he looked like he needed a hundred more hands to help him. 

Tommy, however, snatched the letter out of Phil’s hand and read it as the other man pulled Tubbo into a hug. As Niki and Wilbur waited for Tommy to scan the letter (one of them should have grabbed it – Tommy could never read Techno’s handwriting on account of the hooves he had to write with), they glanced at one another. Niki didn't know what she looked like, but if Wilbur’s face was any reflection of her own, then she probably didn't look well at all. 

“Wait,” Tommy said when he could finally read the paper, “wait. What does he mean?”

“What does it say?” Wilbur asked. 

“I don't know– “

Before he could finish it, Wilbur snatched the letter away and scanned it too, his eyebrows first furrowing and then rising to his hairline. He pulled the paper away from his face, his complexion pale. Wilbur glanced at Niki and she raised an eyebrow. Tubbo was looking at them, flickering his gaze between them both as if the answer was written on their faces.

“He wants to be like me,” Wilbur said weakly. 

“Like you?” she whispered.

“He… he wants to find his ‘other’.”

“And he’s fucking _stupid_!” Phil yelled again, “He’s so fucking stupid. I hate that pig. He’s going to get himself killed!”

“What?” Tubbo shouted, “No! What would we do if he did?”

“Probably find his corpse in that damn tower again,” Phil crossed his arms, “We need to look for him. Even if he can handle himself in a fight, if they have multiple enemies, especially long ranged ones, he’s fucked.”

“I… I have an idea,” Wilbur spoke up, his hair getting in the way of his face, “It’s a little hairbrained but it might still work.”

They were looking at him now, and after Niki made a ‘go on’ sort of movement with her hand, Wilbur continued to talk. 

“Okay, so. Since my ‘other’ is clearly gone, Phil’s is dead, and Niki’s is god knows where, how about the three of us go to the portal and, if we need to, go through it to find Techno?”

“I want to go!” Tommy yelled, putting a hand to his chest, “I don't want you lot having adventures without me.”

“All going well, it won't be an adventure whatsoever. It’ll be a collection.” 

“Would you be able to?” Niki asked immediately, and while it accidentally came off a little patronising, Wilbur clammed up, “Go through the portal, I mean. I know you don't have an ‘other’ anymore, but would you be able to?”

Wilbur didn't say anything, but Phil took the reins and stood, his coat dirty at the back from where he had been sitting on the wood chips, and he brushed them off with cold hands as he stated the new plan.

“Wilbur, can you stay here with Tommy and Tubbo?”

“I’m not staying!” Tommy yelled over Tubbo, who had just begun speaking, “Techno is out there! You said it yourselves, he might be in danger! I think all of us need to go.”

“And what will happen when we get back? When all the food we have grown has gone off and we’re stranded for winter?” Phil was looking at him, but his face seemed more tired than angry, “You, Tubbo and Wilbur will arguably have a more important job than me and Niki. We’ll make sure Techno is alive, but you three will make sure that the rest of us are alive for the rest of the year. We can't afford to take chances here.” 

Almost like the wind could hear them, it stuttered and began to blow through the spruce forest again, making a rain of pine needles come down on them along with whatever frost had melted since the sun had begun to rise. Even though the light was still only just over the horizon, or only just where they could see it, if Niki had to guess she would say it was almost midday. If Techno had left under the cover of night, then he might have been able to travel since sundown the day before, when they were only just finishing their work for the evening – easily over half a day and the whole night.

“So what now?” She asked, “Will you and I go?”

The rest of them looked at her, but Phil just nodded. 

“If you’re up for it. You’re light enough for the elytra to carry, too.”

“Then let’s _go,"_ she insisted, standing up. "We have to hurry." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my two documents have decreased to one, so we're over halfway now boys! prepare for angst. next chapter takes a look at what sapnap, george and fundy are up to, so stay tuned!


	12. Chapter 11: The Unknown

They had been travelling a day and a half, with the frost from that morning hindering some process and disguising the way forward, but Fundy could tell Dream had been there, at the latest, a couple of days before. 

“It’s like he got lost in the forest or something, distracted, maybe” Fundy explained to them when they first left the spruce woods, “but he definitely went this way… across the field, I guess.”

It stretched out in front of them like an ocean of off-colours – purples, dark greens and in some places blue – but the plant life before them was glistening with the half-melted frost, wavering on each strand of heather or leaf from the bluebells, and walking through it would surely soak them from foot to knee. Fundy couldn't help but sigh at the sight, knowing that they’d have to go across regardless of how much he didn't want to, even if it was just for the sake of making some more progress or to get to whatever was on the other side before nightfall. They couldn't see if there even was something over there, but regardless there was still daylight to burn.

“We might be able to cross it today,” Sapnap said as he examined the horizon. It was dead flat, lifeless and shelter less. If the wind kept up they’d be in for a cold night, and the dark clouds on the horizon looked more like a warning than a type of weather. Fundy shuddered at the sight, wishing that his coat was thicker, but Sapnap’s bodywarmer didn’t even have sleaves. Fundy at least had the advantage of fur, his summer-coat, but regardless it was still fur. 

“I don't know if we should,” George said with some uncertainty, “Techno said we’re due for rain or snow, and that if it hadn't come last night then it would be definitely coming tonight.”

“But do you want to wait?” Fundy asked. 

They still had a little while before night set in. It was only just past noon, but they may be able to move further in the darkness before they’d need to rest. If they got too far away from the spruces it would be frivolous to return to it overnight. They either took the chance or didn't. There wasn't an in between option.

“We have wood,” Sapnap shrugged, “It might be tight but we have enough for a small fire to last us the night. We’ll just have to find a ditch or something so that the wind doesn't blow it out immediately.”

“There’s trees,” George said, “There’s, I don't know, three? Just in the middle of the field. You can only just see them, right there.”

“Should we head over then?” Fundy asked, resigning himself to the wind that would inevitably whip its way through his coat (both his cloth and his fur one) and scratch as his skin. If his hat wasn't secured properly it would probably fly off too, and the last thing he felt like doing was chasing it across the fields when the night was drawing in, so he pulled it off his head and shoved it into his pocket, cold be damned. 

Silently, the other two nodded. George looked like he was fighting back some creeping fear, but Sapnap was just tired. 

The journey through the spruce forest had been relatively uneventful, but Fundy had been able to tell that Dream investigated every pathway that took his fancy, apparently not committed at all to finding wherever he was going in the shortest time possible. There had been a few ruined houses, the stump of a huge, dead tree, and a patch of dead blackberry bushes with a stone carving in the middle, to name a few, but the scent he left behind mostly followed a single direction – east. 

And as they set off across the crystalline looking field, with Fundy bringing up the front and the other two trailing behind him and talking amongst themselves. They probably thought that now they were out in the open, with the wind blowing between them and a good two metres distance to go along with it, that Fundy couldn't hear them, but considering that his ears were the size of sonar dishes he wasn't so fortunate. It wasn't like he could block them out either, but he was too nosey to want to do that anyway. 

Could you blame him? Their waning relationship had been the conversation of choice for ages. Niki would mourn it if he hadn’t found out for her. 

“George, uhm,” Sapnap said.

“What?” 

George sounded distracted, and based on his volume, a little bit ahead of Sapnap who was always slightly more heavy footed and took more time to walk. 

“I wanted to say sorry.”

“What for?”

“For not trusting Dream.”

There was a pause and then a sigh before George responded.

“I don't blame you,” George said, “because I didn't trust Dream when I first met him either. If it wasn't for circumstances, I might not have trusted him at all. I’m sorry too for not believing you.”

“I feel like when you were there to filter it he just seemed a little strange, but not downright evil or whatever. But when he was alone with me he did come across as really sinister. He probably thought it was normal, but to me it was just weird.” 

A hum. “He probably did. Think it was normal, that is. He isn’t used to talking to people without me being there.”

“We should put that on the list for when he wakes up next spring. ‘Teach Dream how to be normal’.”

“ _ More _ normal. He’s made quite a bit of progress with that already, even if I can't prove it now.”

“I’ll believe you. What has he learnt?”

“To knock before coming in, and to wait for the door to be answered before coming in…”

“I’m sure that was an adventure to teach him.”

“It sure was.”

Another pause, George’s words lingering in the air as they crossed a large patch of poppies and Fundy wondered if that was it, but eventually George spoke up again.

“It’s going to be a cold night,” George said, “Do you think we’ll reach those trees in time?”

Sapnap didn't respond, but Fundy could imagine him shrugging, the heavy bag and the sword going up and down on his shoulders as he kept marching on. At this point Fundy turned back to look at them and allow them to catch up a little bit. They were less than halfway to the three trees in the middle, and it looked like they would need to stay there overnight. Fundy couldn't wait to have his turn asleep, since he took watch the night before. His feet hurt and his eyes felt sandy.

Onwards east they went, the field turning a brilliant gold as the sun dipped below the cotton-candy clouds as it continued to set, and illuminated them in a fiery orange for the first time since the summer. It warmed through the frozen tips of their ears and aided the defrosting of their fingertips, and yet, as soon as the sun graced them, it left. Dusk settled in, the wind died, and darkness seeped out of the earth like a plague of locusts, setting about obscuring the sky and turning it purple in the decent into night. 

But something was different. Fundy couldn't quite put his finger on it yet but the darkness out in the field was thicker, heady, and came out almost like smoke. 

“Guys?” he said as soon as they reached the trees, “I don't think we have long.”

“Should I use the oil?” Sapnap asked.

“Yeah,” George said, and his voice shook like a leaf, “Yeah I think we need to get this going as soon as possible. Being out here is giving me goosebumps.”

The three lonely ash trees had a divot in the earth beneath them which they arched over like a collection of sworn protectors, and the three of them hurried to throw half of the logs, all the sticks and much of the kindling into the hole in order for Sapnap to douse it all in the oil. Then, as quickly as he could, George smacked a piece of flint against his axe to cast sparks over the pit, and just as the darkness reached for Fundy, the pit caught alight. 

With a tremendous  _ whoosh _ the fire pit roared to life, a wild animal contained only by the cage it was made from, and it lit the area around them in a wide arch. The tips of the ash trees above them were visible in it too, and they were a bit like stars hanging beneath the void called a sky, wet and reflecting the light back. 

It was a brief reprieve, however.

“Can you guys see that?”

Fundy didn't want to look away from it, standing between two of the trees and staring at the meadow’s floor George and Sapnap looked at one another and came to where Fundy was standing, but all they could see was the night. 

“See what?”

“You don't see it?” He asked, and his voice was edging on hysteria. Sapnap put his hand on the half-druid to steady him.

“No?” Sapnap said, squinting. 

“The– the darkness!” 

George’s throat seized, his hand in Sapnap’s own going vice-like and it began to tremble. 

“What about it?” Sapnap asked, and all he could do was hope that Fundy wasn't talking about what he thought he was. He could hear the click in George’s throat as he swallowed.

“It’s moving!”

George stumbled further back in the light, getting as close to the fire as he could, but Sapnap stood between Fundy and George still. George’s face was white. 

“I think you should stand back,” Sapnap said to him, “I don't think staring at it will make you see anything good.”

“Is something out there?” Fundy asked, and George could have laughed at the memory of asking the same thing.

“I don't know, but even if there isn't, staring at it will make you think there is.”

“Sapnap,” Fundy said, “something is  _ out there _ . I can see it!” 

“What does it look like?”

“Smoke. It’s– Sapnap, dude, it looks like smoke and it’s reaching out like it wants to take the fire. We can’t stay here,” Fundy decided, turning around to stare at them with a crazed look in his eyes, wild looking, “I can  _ see it _ . Do we have enough wood to keep the fire going if it starts to rain?”

“No,” George said, “Not unless we cut down these trees, you know, our only shelter.” 

Sapnap sighed at them and drew his sword. “It’s too cold for rain,” he said and pulled down a thin branch, “so if anything, we’ll get snow.”

Raising his sword up to the dark branch, Sapnap sawed through the twig to see if the wood was too wet to be burnt, but as he pulled the stick from the tree he noticed, with a sinking feeling, that a wet, red stain-like liquid was left in his hand. The tree dripped from its wound, bloody. 

Back from the dead, the wind shimmered the heather and reawakened with a startling, wailing moan, and the pit of fire warbled along with it, exposing the wood still burning at the base but splitting the fire in half. The flames whipped around, the trees above them dripping with water, and the branch Sapnap cut brushed his face, staining his cheek red. They stared at one another over the fire, a trio of lost boys, wondering only about their fate.

“Trees don't bleed,” Fundy said quietly, almost inaudible on account of the weather. 

“I don't know if that’s true anymore.”

Sapnap was still, a barrier against the wind, a pole for it to avoid and go around, but then, like he had been electrocuted, he moved. 

“Grab your stuff,” he said, “Grab a torch out of your bag or – yes, the lantern would work better. Both. I can see light.”

“What?”

“I can see a light! It’s there!”

He pointed, and indeed, with a great distance between their campfire and whatever Sapnap saw, was light. 

Although, it was muffled by the newly falling snow, fractured into pieces and being obscured by the white powder too, which fell in thick pieces like ash from a volcano, thick, deadly. George grabbed his bag, snatching a torch from inside it as he fought through the urge to do something drastic, like vomit or just walk out there into the night to see if his worst fears had indeed come true, consequences be damned. But Fundy was cupping the fire in the lantern, encouraging it to light with gentle breaths and a match, and Sapnap was retrieving his own torch, shoving the bound end into the already weakened fire. 

The two torches held above their heads, and the lantern out before them as a final effort in case the torches went out in the wind and snow, they pushed onwards, leaving the false salvation of their firepit behind to die, and they moved onwards towards the lighthouse, the beacon, which shone in the falling snow. The three of them could only hope that it was something worthwhile, worth taking the chance of hypothermia over living in the dark, or in the truth that George knew, dying in it. 

Eastward bound, through snow and reaching darkness, they ran. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uh oh. 
> 
> A nice change of perspective, huh? This chapter was a horror to try and write, but it's a necessary one, unfortunately. I hope you enjoyed it anyway! 
> 
> just a warning, the next chapter made me cry writing it. I'm going to put off editing it until I am alone lol


	13. Chapter 12: The Long Goodbye

The birch forest, now a leafless collection of frosty branches and dead shrubs, was the most peaceful place Techno had been to since moving to the other settlement in the spruce forest. 

It wasn't a welcome realisation. Trooping through the forests he realised that there were more abandoned buildings than animals; ones that looked to be a collection of old villages, or just odd houses, walls, a ditch that looked something like a canal at one point. The world had decayed and the plants had moved in. The closer he got to the tower, the more cornus and ash trees he saw. He knew about the cornus, but why the ash? Why was it always ash? 

He’d made good progress in the night, and after taking a short while to collect himself in one of their previous houses, the old stone one with the walls that they couldn't have possibly taken with them, he thought more on this world they had found themselves in, about the decay of it, the lasting memories planted into the earth and covered with fallen leaves, and about how even their own homes were now a mark upon the landscape that would eventually be forgotten, either by themselves or by others when they had passed. Techno breathed out, his breath coming in a fine vapour that disappeared in the walls, and when he had enough of being in his own head he kept moving onwards. 

It was evening now as he continued his march, passing dead trees and walking around broken walls. The golden hour cast long, twisting shadows over everything in its way, and Techno savoured the last bit of light before a snowy, bitter night would surely follow. It hadn't rained the night before, and so the turn of winter was inevitable now. Snow was sure to come. 

The tower stood tall against the greying sky, and he had to admit that it was creepy, standing tall like a chess piece on the landscape, but what lay below was what he was looking for, if he could even find it. He wouldn't go through the portal. Dream said that their time was running short, and whether or not Techno even liked the guy he had to admit that he probably knew more about it. 

So he entered the tower, passing through the parasitic wisteria and over the mound of rubble that would have been his grave if Sapnap hadn't found him, and Techno began the descent into the darkness, taking the time to light a torch before he could get smothered by it completely. Something seemed… off about the entrance to the stronghold, and while Techno couldn't quite put a finger on it, he still hummed to himself to try and distract his mind from the wet walls, which shone the torchlight back into his face. The area before the portal would probably be even more flooded than it was when they were taking refuge there before, but at the very least the journey down there didn't smell as strongly as it had in the past. 

But reaching the bottom, Techno realised that the main area was dry, with only a few stagnant puddles of water littering the floor which reflected the portal, which hung like a moon, full, brilliant, in the wicker-like frame. 

He could breathe. The portal was still here and, if it came down to the wire, he could pass through.

He wouldn't though. Even if he didn't manage to become immortal, he wouldn't go through the portal because it was closing, and he’d surely die before he came back. 

Wait. 

If he went through he wouldn't die, he realised. It would just be a very, very long waiting game. One where he would never see Phil, Wilbur, any of the others, Tommy – actually, on second thought.

“Don't you dare.”

His hoof stopped a mere foot from the portal. He couldn't see himself in the reflection. How odd. 

“Why did you follow me?” he asked the unseen voice. 

“Did you think we wouldn't?”

“We?” Techno asked and turned around. 

Phil was lighting the lanterns in the ash-tree encrusted ceiling, helping the other end of the stronghold gain some light, and Techno realised why he had been so on edge getting down here. Something about the darkness seemed off, like it was shifting in the darkness as eels shifted in mud, but it was so hard to see that he needed to squint to see it. He should have brought his glasses, because seeing any definition in the low light was impossible. When Phil had lit two or three of the lanterns, the blonde turned to face him fully, coming to stand beside Niki at the bottom of the steps to the portal. Techno was taller than them both anyway, but being on the steps as well just added to it. 

He could at least hope that he looked cool. His cloak billowed in the underground wind, rushing from his right to the left, from one corridor to another. There was a cave system somewhere else in the stronghold, there must have been if the breeze was anything to go by, and it had to lead to the surface somewhere.

Niki crossed her arms, her two rapiers looking newly sharpened in the sheaths on her hips, and she stood there stabbing him with her eyes alone, no weapons necessary. Phil had his trident too, his elytra unsettled on his back and the bag of rockets over his shoulder, and he looked frustrated, tired maybe, as if he hadn’t slept properly in at least a few days. Techno couldn't feel bad about it, though. Sometimes you just had to be a little selfish, and surely him being an even stronger being than before would aid him in his role as the protector of the camp, right? A win-win.

(He did feel a little bad. He really tried not to, but it seeped into him anyway.) 

“You didn't answer my question,” Techno said after a moment had passed.

“We followed you because you’re a fucking idiot,” Phil said, and wow, he was actually angry. He usually only did that sort of thing with Wilbur, or maybe Tommy. 

“I think I explained it pretty well, actually,” Techno put one hoof over his heart, the other still holding his great blade beside him, “Unless there’s something you haven't told me? Or the rest of the camp, for that matter.” 

“We need you to come back,” Niki said, stepping closer, “these things are dangerous, Techno. They ate Wilbur!” 

“And?” he asked, “It’s a small price. Why wouldn't I want to be immortal?”

“No, no,” Phil reached forward and took the hoof Techno was still holding over his chest, drawing him away from the portal. Techno let him. “You need to hear us, okay? This is stupid. Did you not know that they have to eat you, properly _eat you_ , for you to become one of them?”

Techno tossed his ears to the side, leaning his head back to look down on them slightly. He had his sword dug into the stairs before him, in the resting position of a knight. He replied, “I did know that, but it doesn't change my mind.”

“What?” Niki’s mouth opened, almost in shock. 

“No pain, no gain.”

“Shut up, okay,” Phil seemed to be rethinking it, “Those things were dangerous. They were untrustworthy and they dragged us into all of this without thinking about what _we_ might want. It was as if they thought we were animals or tools. They don’t care about us. I wouldn't trust any of them.”

“Would you trust Wilbur?” 

Niki shouted over Phil, “Yes! How dare you even ask that?”

Techno raised an eyebrow at her, his face still dark from the bright portal light behind him, and in the light her own hair appeared white. Phil looked washed out too, stressed like Techno had ever seen him, and part of him did feel a little bad for it, especially since it would be partly his fault for it. Niki just looked angry. 

“Do you trust Dream?”

She closed her mouth, glaring at him with a fury that might have been intimidating if not for the hypocrisy of it. Techno looked back at Phil and shrugged at him, almost in a ‘what can I tell you’ sort of way. The portal behind him made a deep chiming noise, almost like the great bell of a cathedral ringing from miles and miles away, and Techno looked back at the portal. There still wasn't a reflection of him in it. Sapnap had mentioned a reflection, right?

“Look, do you think we all should do this?” Phil said it like it had an obvious answer, “Tommy and Tubbo still have theirs out there too, do you think they should be fucking eaten too? Do you think that’s a good idea, Techno?”

“They’re adults, Phil. I’m not going to make decisions on their behalf. If they want to then I don't see why not, but I’m not going to lock them in the cellar and force their ‘other’s onto them.”

“I never said you would, but do you think they _should_?”

“I don't see why not.”

Phil swore again, turning away from the half-druid to look down one of the corridors, a hand pressed to his face like he was going to cry from frustration. Techno sighed, putting his free hand to his brow as well before he took the few steps downwards to the floor once more, walking past Niki and going over to the other man, resting a hand on his shoulder. Phil’s elytra, as much of an extension of himself as his trident had become, twitched. 

“Phil,” Techno said quietly, calming a wild animal, “Phil, I’m sorry, but I’ve thought this through, okay?”

“I don’t think you have, Techno,” Phil said, and with his trident he turned around, brushing Techno’s hand aside, “I have to ask. Would you rather follow through with this or still have me by your side?”

Techno pulled his hand back slowly. Phil’s eyes bored into his. 

His cheeks were flushed, eyes wet but no tears had spilt yet, and while Niki took a couple of steps towards them both and put her hands onto the handles of her two swords, she didn’t do anything yet. Phil, however, kept talking.

“If you walk away from this place with us now, if you forget about this little excursion and never mention it again, then I’ll be willing to put this behind us.”

Techno tongued the scar on the inside of his lip and didn’t respond, instead taking a moment to consider what his friend, his mentor, was saying. Niki unsheathed her two swords slowly, the metal-on-metal sound harsh in the quiet of the room. The portal tolled behind them. 

“And if I refuse?” Techno asked slowly, letting his hand flex around the leather handle of his own blade. 

Phil’s face didn’t change. No tears, no smile, no twitch. Nothing.

“Then I’ll force you to come with me, whether you like it or not.” 

Niki took a sharp breath. Techno stepped backwards and Phil straightened his shoulders.

“Don’t make me do this, Techno. This can end now, if you let it.”

Techno watched the other man, watched the set of his jaw and the determination that came off him in something not quite like waves. It was more like a waterfall, and as the darkness reached out for Phil Techno took another step back. 

And movement. 

Techno was faster in his swordsmanship, but Phil had always been lighter on his feet. The trident came down in an overhead crash, and Techno’s two-handed blade lowered on impact. He ducked before Phil slid it forward over the metal, a screeching, horrid sound coming from metal on metal, and Techno rolled out the way, through a puddle, over the floor and away from Phil. He grit his teeth, a growl coming out without thinking, and Techno was forced right, avoiding a stab.

He twisted, and Phil jumped back to avoid the sword going through him completely, his elytra fluttering like a panicked bird as he rose into the air slightly and fell on two feet. As Techno readied his stance, Niki struck. 

A thin slice, a warning, across his cheek and under his eye. He snorted, shaking his head, dashing backwards in short hops as she ripped the rapiers through the air like butterflies, and before Techno knew it, he was at the wall. He ducked, and one of her two swords penetrated the wall two inches deep. He kicked her other hand and she yelled. He felt the blade’s edge sink into the hoof, but the sword skidded across the floor towards Phil. He was up again.

Techno knocked Niki aside quick enough to avoid the electrified trident slamming into the wall where they both just were. It crackled, cackled at them, with pure, white energy. 

“Phil!” Techno yelled, but the trident swung back, loyal despite misuse. It rattled in Phil’s hand, skidding lightning over the puddles in the floor and electrifying Niki’s other sword. She reached for the blade still lodged in the wall, but Techno ignored her, diving to avoid another attempt to pierce him. 

Phil hopped backwards, avoiding a slash, but as he thrust his trident he caught Techno’s cloak. Like reeling in a fish, Phil pulled the thrashing half-druid closer. Techno twisted to try and dislodge it, but Phil had him close.

“I won’t let you do this, Techno,” Phil’s voice, icy, seemed to echo. 

“Is it worth killing me for?” Techno demanded, and Phil’s face twitched.

Niki’s blade came down by his side, missing his arm by an inch but cutting through the cloak and releasing Techno from Phil’s hold. The cut in his hoof met cold water, but Techno readied the huge blade and charged.

Niki and Phil parted like waves, and while they both were attacking him, he knew only one of them was willing to take it far enough to injure him greatly. Phil’s whole body crackled with the electricity from the trident, and Techno focused Niki as she came for him again. Her sword caught the handguard of his own and he twisted it out of her hand again, but the other sword was ready. She stabbed at him, kicked, knocking his foot out from under himself and he fell to one knee. 

In an unwise move – a necessary one – he grabbed her sword before it made contact with his face again. She pulled it back, slicing through his palm but it gave him time, precious time. He stood. He unhooked his tattered cloak and let it fall to the side. 

Niki grabbed her other sword again and stood up straight. Phil reared his arm back and threw. 

In a move as uncalculated as it was stupid, Techno reached with his right hand, twisted his body, and caught the trident before it could sail over his shoulder. He shuddered with the electricity, feeling it shoot down his arm like boiling hot water.

“Phil,” Techno tried again, but Niki was there. He dropped the trident to grab his sword two-handed once more.

Niki’s blades were not as sharp as they had been, but still dangerous. One of them was dull in the blade from being thrown across the room, the other pointless after being shoved into the wall, but it was impossible to tell which was which. As she rammed one into his side it was luck more than fate that decided it was the blunt one. Techno hardly felt it, and instead of going straight through him it only pierced. Still, he squealed loud, not because it hurt, but because of the effect. Niki’s face fell, her movement ceased, and Techno was able to shove her away again. She shouted as she fell to the floor. 

Techno shifted, and an elytra rocket went careening past him, howling before it slammed into a far wall and exploded into a crackle of white dye and fire. The wall crumbled down, dragging with it the ash ceiling and causing plumes of dust to fill the chamber. Techno looked through it, hardly seeing Phil but his eye caught the flash of the flint and steel again. Techno rolled, his view of Phil becoming obscured by Niki who was still on the floor, and the rocket went soaring past him once more, into the rubble. A rocket wouldn't be enough to kill him, but it would hurt him badly, badly enough to never fight again. The ash ceiling was on fire. Smoke filled the air, following the stairs and corridors out. Techno dived closer to Phil, knowing the ranged attacks needed to stop for them to be able to breathe. He saw Phil’s face through the smoke and dust. 

Phil’s trident came past him once more, never leaving the older man’s hand and ripping the smoke to shreds with the lightning reaching from it. Techno could feel it hum on his own sword, charging it, and he knew one strike from the trident would hurt, as would the electricity coming from it like an overcharged battery, and it would knock him out for certain. Phil drew it back. He was always as impatient in battle as he was efficient in his buildings. Techno knew what to do. 

He feigned a stumble, falling backwards onto the floor, and Phil stood above him. He had a hand on the end of the trident, one in the middle, and pushed it down. 

But Techno rolled. The trident rammed itself into the floor like a turquoise lightning rod and it crackled as it disagreed with the puddle, hissing like a wild cat, and Techno shoved Phil away. 

The older man landed poorly, something snapped as he hit the ground, but Techno wasn’t done. He raised the great sword over his shoulder, readying a swooping strike, and with all the strength he could muster he brought it down. Phil looked at him just in time for the blade to make contact.

The trident screamed, the two ends of it sparking as they were separated, and Techno’s sword lit up like it was on fire. The only thing that stopped him from being killed with the electricity was the wood surrounding the handle, which splintered and split as the current still ran through it, although weaker. It shook his body with the force of it. 

The trident stopped howling and the lightning coming from it had faded; Techno fell to the floor.

The silence that overcame them drowned them. The lanterns above them were weaker after the fire had stopped, but they were still, somehow, alight. Niki looked at Techno, he could see her out the corner of her eye through the ash and dust, and she was cradling her wrist in her hand. He might have broken it, he realised, and Phil’s body had made an unsavoury noise upon impact too. Techno’s side, the same one he had been stabbed through when Sapnap found him, was bleeding. The wound on his other side from Niki was too. With his wounds open on both sides, it was like one abyss leading to another. A hole straight through him, if you cared to look for the way between them. 

He breathed. His nose was stuffy. His eyes watered, but the strong smell of smoke wasn’t what caused it.

Phil had his back to them, facing one of the endless corridors as he hunched over himself. Something was wrong with the elytra, Techno realised, and Phil was clutching his arm like he was in pain.

“I don’t want you to do this, Techno.” Phil said with a quiet voice. 

Techno looked at him. His crown was still, somehow, on his head. He didn’t deserve it. He knew he didn’t deserve it. 

“Phil, please, just understand me-“

“Understand _me_ , _Technoblade_. Techno, one day we’re all going to die and you’ll live to see it,” Phil said with a shaky voice. Niki shuffled over to him, her back facing Techno now too. Phil’s elytra twitched involuntarily when she brushed it, and she quickly moved her hand away as if it had scalded her. Techno didn’t feel as if it was right to stand up to move over to the other two, not that he’d have the strength to with the aftermath from the trident still running through him. He crawled. 

“Techno,” he said, and Techno’s heart ached for the other man, “I can't be here forever. I’m going to die and you’re going to see it, and I don't want that to happen.”

“Phil,” but Techno was interrupted again.

“No, please, just,” he put a hand on the floor, and his sleeves scraped the floor as his elytra fanned out behind him, a great wave of feathers and fabric , “listen. When we were living in the birch forest, when Tubbo got sick from eating beechnuts and we didn't know he was allergic to them yet, I thought about just… just ending it, but I was so conflicted. I didn't want to see any of you die, and I didn't want anyone else to see me die either. Did you know that?”

Hesitantly, Techno shook his head, but Phil couldn't see it.

“I felt so lost because it was up to me, it was up to me to stop you from getting sick, to make sure we had enough food and water, to make sure we survived the winter, and we did by the skin of our teeth. You know when there were only two houses finished and only enough wood chopped to fuel one of them? You know when it was all so helpless? I felt like I'd failed. We were dead people walking, and I didn't want any of you to get hurt, or to see me hurt. Tommy used to think I couldn't bleed, you know that? Did you know that I went through that damned portal so that none of you would have to?”

“Phil, look at me,” Niki asked him as she knelt to his side, but he kept talking.

“I don't want you to get hurt, but me being gone means I can't make sure of it. No matter how long I live you’ll all out live me. I can handle sadness but– but I don't want any of you to need to deal with it for me, when I could have dealt with it alone.”

Techno crouched beside Phil, the end of his sword dragging through a puddle, and he laid down the blade so that he could look at the other man unencumbered. His cloak was still in one of the sooty puddles nearby. Phil’s eyes were red. 

“If I could go back,” Phil said, “I don't know what I would have done. Whether I would kill that thing or let it kill me, but I wouldn't wish Wilbur’s fate on any of you. I’d take his fate if it meant saving you.”

“Wilbur wouldn't want you to have it,” Techno said, believing every word he said for it was the whole hearted truth, “He loves you Phil, but for him it was such a traumatic thing that he wouldn't want it on anyone.” 

“I’ve already failed once,” Phil said, “He’ll live without me. He’ll keep going despite it, and he might miss me forever, but I failed by ensuring that fact. Is it worse for him to remember me or to forget me?” 

Niki swallowed, but she wasn't looking at Phil, instead staring down the corridor to the left of the portal, heading eastwards. Techno ignored her and tilted Phil’s head up to look at him in the eye, but Phil avoided his gaze. He was bleeding, Techno realised, his arm was broken. 

“Phil,” he said softly, “If I do this, I’ll never forget you, and I’ll look after everyone. I’ll look after Wilbur, and Tubbo, and Tommy and whoever else we meet. I’ll remember you all and...”

“How can you promise that?” Phil sniffed, his head lowering into his hands again, “Will you be able to promise that in fifty years, a hundred? A thousand? How long is forever?” 

“Then I’ll tell everyone I meet,” Techno promised, genuine, “The kindest person I’ve ever known. The most loyal, forgiving and kind. You’re brave, considerate, warm hearted, Phil, you’re the greatest person I’ve ever known. If I ever meet someone out there who’s a fraction of what you are then I’m in safe hands, but you’ll never be lost to me. You’ll be remembered forever, if by no one else then by me. I’m not going to forget you any time soon, and I’ll tell everyone I meet about you. I’ll tell everyone I meet about the crazy, wonderful, incredible person that flew with artificial wings and had the weather at his fingertips. You’ll be your own legend, an Icarus that never falls, an Achilles with no heel. A blonde, king-like person with a kingdom of idiots around a circular kitchen table.”

“I am no king.”

“No, but I’m hardly one either,” Techno said, “I crowned myself. I can sure as hell crown you.”

Without bending his head, exposing no neck, Techno raised his bejewelled crown from his undeserving head and set it in its rightful place on Phil’s own head, circling around the brim of his hat in a solid, golden weight. Phil did not look up at him, his halo of golden hair still backlit in a brilliant white light from the portal behind them, and he leaned over the puddle he knelt in. Droplets fell into it from his face, and yet Phil still did not look up. Techno stared down at the stone floor, at the cracked brick and the reflections of the lanterns and burnt branches in the ceiling.

He was a failure. A bitter, sentimental failure, who had so deeply disappointed the one person he cared enough about to apologise to. And it was true, how would he live without Phil? How would he keep his balance, his backbone, when the most solid brick wall he ever found had fallen and he was left alone? When Phil was gone Techno would be the one in charge, but without the older man’s guidance he’d be lost, so lost, and would no doubt be leading others into the wrong. 

“I love you, Phil,” Techno said, croaked, but he received no response. Water dripped from Phil’s face into the puddle and all Techno could do was watch. 

He looked at himself in the puddle, his own selfish self, and then at the other version of himself who judged him silently, watching, impassive, almost like it was waiting for Techno to say something or as if it was disappointed with Techno’s decisions. The other-Techno was still wearing its crown, and when Techno nodded at it, it gave a quiet smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reading this again, I'm not sure if it was the writing or the fact that it was 1am that made me sad :/   
> Either way, hope you enjoyed! Let me know what you think - any feedback when it comes to emotional scenes/fights is a welcome one, because personally I feel like they're my weak points. Also, I kept noticing errors, so while I hope I got them all, please let me know if you see any of those too.


	14. Chapter 13: Faded Light

Phil and Niki had left earlier that day, George, Fundy and Sapnap had left the day before, and they would all be back soon, Wilbur was sure of it. There wasn't another option. They’d all get back fine and then it wouldn't be up to him to make sure that they all didn't starve over winter. Tubbo and Tommy were helping him, obviously, if burning the previous batch of pickled onions somehow counted as helping, but he was on the dramatic side, okay? And Phil said he was in charge, anyway, so it was down to him and him alone. 

If he was awake tomorrow (and he kind of hoped that he wasn't so that they could blame Dream for dragging them all into this mess, and then it wouldn't be his fault when they all died, since Dream caused all this tree-person stuff to start with, right?) then he’d get water, maybe with some berries or a slice of one of Niki’s old lemons for a nice touch and he’d drown himself in it so that Tubbo would stop coming back to him for instructions. How the hell was Wilbur supposed to know how to prepare for winter? Gardening was always Techno’s thing, and Niki always helped him, and then Wilbur could be left alone to mend clothes or make wool an actually usable substance or weave, not be dragged into it because that pig suddenly gained some sense of meaning and Niki apparently felt the need to drag him back. 

And potatoes of all things. This was definitely Techno’s handiwork based on how they were not planted in rows but in a diagonal pattern to increase the potato to space ratio. 

A shrill laugh echoed over the settlement – no doubt Tommy spilling something or Tubbo setting something on fire as they tried to make more blackcurrant jam. They had the easy task. It wasn't _his_ fault that he couldn't taste it anymore. Everything that wasn't meat made him feel ill, even the things he used to love. 

Wilbur held a potato before him, holding it up in the afternoon light to assess its shape, and he cupped the bottom of it.

“Alas, poor Techno!” he mocked, saying it in a sing-song way. He had definitely spent too long in the potato patch, but now that his fingers were suitably numb from the cold and he could no longer feel the dirt going beneath his fingernails, it was too late to stop. Wilbur went on in his momentary madness, “I used to know him – a (well, not very charming) guy, and now – how terrible – this is him. It makes me sick. I don’t know how many times I kissed the lips that used to be right here. Where are your jokes now?”

Wilbur threw the potato in the basket with the rest of them, continuing to talk to it. “I read that in one of Techno’s books once. It was a bit shit, really.” 

It had been a boring, uneventful afternoon, with Niki and Phil leaving just before the sun reached its high point. It was stupid calling it midday, since he could hardly even see the sun under the thick evergreen pine needles of the spruce forest. Or were they spruce needles? A pine forest? Either way, most of the forest floor was bare of frost, but he could still feel the ache of cold from the earth he was kneeling on. It was funny, despite Techno and Niki having gone over this patch of dirt a few hundred times already, Wilbur was still finding things.

It was funny, really funny. He’d found a ring, something engraved with knots and the shape of a running deer. There was a brick buried in quite deep, but the roots of a certain potato had unearthed it for him and demanded it be removed, lest they lost around nine potatoes to the single piece of some ancient civilisation.

Who cared about history, anyway? There were ruins all over the place in all of the worlds they went into, but especially this one. Something about the world, the country or wherever had caused and seen its rise and collapse a long time ago, before any of them were alive at all. When they encountered these ruins before they usually just searched for something useful and then left if nothing happened to present itself, but now Wilbur was wondering. Did a ring covered in engraved knots and a deer exist in any of the other worlds, too? Was it important to remember something so unnecessary as a ring? If he cared to look, would he find it again? 

A great tragedy had befallen this place, and while they made their own bread and hunted their own animals, ghosts lingered where he couldn't see them. Wilbur, above it all, felt so horribly, terribly _watched_. 

Who lived here before him? How many people lived and died on this earth he grew potatoes in? If the apocalypse had been and gone, what was next? 

Alas, poor people. Hopefully they’d get to rest for a long time before a potato grew its way into their skull and Wilbur had to pull them up. There was no laughing at something like that. 

Well, maybe a little bit of laughing. Ironic, maybe. 

He slipped the knot-deer ring onto his finger, admiring the shine in the blue-grey of the ancient silver enamel, and he twisted his hand around to admire the craftsmanship. Phil could probably make something like it, but not quite the same. He wasn't a jeweller, and none of the others were either. Maybe that would be something that struck Tubbo’s or Tommy’s interests eventually – metal work, but for something pretty rather than useful. It was, after all, a pretty ring. 

The bushes rustled on the other side of the potato patch.

Wilbur shot to his feet, his cold hands forgotten as he grasped the sharpened hoe tight enough to creak the wood, and he stared intently at the bushes as if he could will whatever was inside them to come forward.

But nothing did. He stood, listening until another peal of laughter came from Tommy and Tubbo causing chaos across the camp before he glanced away to look in their direction. There was nothing over there either, aside from some continuing laugher and chatter, and Wilbur looked to the buildings. The home the two of them called theirs was still sloping slightly to one side, as it had been before, and Techno’s house was dark inside. Phil’s was too low to be seen over the dead bushes and blackberries, and Wilbur’s own home seemed quiet too. To his right, Sapnap's house stood like a rock from the earth, George’s faded into the woodland slightly with how the ivy was starting to get to it, and what was once Dream’s home was still missing a wall. All was quiet, well, aside from Tubbo’s chants echoing from across the empty space. 

Just as his gaze flickered away, a body stumbled half alive through the underbrush and collapsed in a heavy pile of limbs, its body clothed in an olive wool and hair a dark, woody brown. Wilbur jumped back, holding the razor-sharp hoe in front of him once more as if it was about to launch from its collapsed position and attack him, but it just lay there, limp and familiar. 

“Uh oh,” Wilbur whispered to himself, and he shuffled forward with the hoe still in both of his dirty hands. He should have just thrown a potato at it or something to see if it was alive, but Wilbur was already halfway gone, halfway there and inching closer. 

It was breathing. Tubbo’s face (or, some malformed abomination of Tubbo’s face) looked at him, its eyes wet and only half visible. The rest of its face seemed featureless, hidden behind overgrown bark and rough in places where it had splintered and regrew. It opened its mouth, a crimson tongue peeking out as it let out a breath, wheezing, and then spoke. 

“Hey Wilbur,” it said, croaked, “how are you?”

Wilbur didn't respond at first, taking a moment to shuffle around a little further so that he could see its face more, and with a deep breath he responded, “What do you want?”

Its eyes were flickering, in a similar sort of way that one’s eyes would flicker when they dreamed, but other-Tubbo’s eyes were wide open, glancing wildly from one side to the other like it would never have an opportunity to see again.

“Is... is the other me around here?” it said, and Wilbur withdrew. 

“No,” he said. 

“Will you go get it?”

“No. Why are you here?”

“Wilbur,” other-Tubbo’s voice was so, so weak, “I’m dying.”

“Why?”

“Please let me speak to the other-Tubbo. Wilbur, please.”

“No.”

The other-Tubbo, as if Wilbur had pulled its heart free from its chest and ate it, looked at him with a teary expression. It moved its hand slightly and Wilbur raised the hoe again, but the other-Tubbo let it drop.

“Wilbur,” it said, “Please let me live, Wilbur.”

“No.”

“Wilbur, I’m going to die.”

“ _Good_.” 

Its breathing became raspy. “Phil was right,” it said, “You all really don't have souls.” 

“Are you dying?” Wilbur asked it again, but it didn't respond, almost like its mouth had sewn itself shut upon death to stop it from leaking all its secrets. The eternity it had lived was over, and it would never repeat itself. Tubbo was safe from this things, then. 

Wilbur was able to take a closer look at it now that it had gone limp. While it definitely had Tubbo’s hair, which was the same shade if not the same texture, its face was a warped, messy affair as if it had been steamed and left to dry a hundred times. Its eyes were closed, making them indistinguishable from the rest of its face, as were its lips and mouth, although, if Wilbur squinted he swore he could see some sharp teeth-like prongs sticking out of where its mouth once was. As he watched it decay before his very eyes, however, he heard something. Or rather, he heard a lack of something. 

There was no laughter coming from across the settlement, no guffaws or conversation. Other-Tubbo lay dying, dead, before him. But there were two of them, weren't there? 

Dread. Hot, sickening dread. 

Wilbur ran. 

“Tommy!” 

Standoff on the loamy earth. The massive vat of jam the two of them had been tending was off the fire, and Tommy stood a few feet away from it, watching his other. Tubbo stood between Tommy and the jam, his hand clasped in the other man’s as he looked at Wilbur when he came skidding around the corner. Wilbur shot towards them, between the other-Tommy and the real one, and he came to a sharp stop with his boots digging into the soft dirt beneath their feet. 

“What do you _want?_ ” Wilbur shouted at it, “What the fuck do you want?”

The other-Tommy just blinked at him, one half of its face was slanted to the side, warped, and it watched Wilbur with the tiredness of someone who didn't know what day it was, let alone where they were. It clutched it’s side, weakened or injured, and blinked slowly. It seemed like it wanted to go home.

“Please,” it begged, “please just let me live.”

“What?” Wilbur squinted at it. 

“It’s like Techno said!” Tommy yelled at him, “If he and I ‘become one’ or whatever, then I become immortal, right?”

The other-Tommy, still weak, still halfway between life and death, just nodded sleepily. “Yeah,” it said quietly, and it reminded Wilbur of when Tommy had almost died to an infected arrow wound. He felt sick. The copy-cat continued, “That's right.”

“Wilbur, I want to be immortal.”

Tommy announced it as if it was the easiest thing in the world, as if it was a perfectly logical thing to decide and he could just pop out and get it. his stomach rolled as the other-Tommy stook a shaky step forward, and he reached a hand out without actually grasping the younger man. Tubbo looked between the three of them, silent, but Wilbur wasn’t willing to stand aside. He wasn’t going to let Tommy die, not on his watch.

“Well, too bad,” he shouted, stepping forward, “I’m not letting you near that thing.”

“Tommy, I don't think that’s a good idea,” Tubbo said now, his eyebrows drawn together in something akin to desperation, “Phil won't want this to happen to you.”

“Phil isn't here!” Tommy turned back to Tubbo and shook his hand off his arm. He walked around Wilbur, still two metres or so away from the other-Tommy. He continued as Wilbur sputtered. “Phil isn't here and it’s my decision to make. I say I’m doing it. Move out the way.”

Wilbur grabbed him, holding him back as he squawked like a bird in a trap, and Wilbur shook him with a vice-like grip. Tommy’s hand came to claw at the arm of Wilbur’s coat, but the older man’s grip was firm. Tubbo was making frantic noises behind Wilbur, but neither of them turned to look.

“Tommy,” Wilbur spat, “He will eat you. You know that right? That’s how they become immortal, or how you become immortal, or whatever, they _eat you_. They _eat you alive._ Have you ever heard your joints pop? Imagine blood vessels doing that.” Tommy’s face was pale. He opened his mouth but Wilbur kept talking, “Veins, arteries, whatever. Do you know what it’s like to be eaten? I – “

“Tommy!” Tubbo shouted, but all Wilbur did was look back at him and the life in his arms was lost. 

Blood ran down Wilbur’s hand, hot, crimson, and the only noise Tommy made was a wet-sounding gasp, his knees giving out as the other-Tommy sunk its teeth into his shoulder, staining his clothes red. It dripped, seeped, and gushed all at once. Tommy fell backwards before Wilbur could see his face, and other-Tommy took advantage, fully, eagerly. 

Wilbur stumbled back. Tubbo was screaming, but before the younger man could avenge his friend by bludgeoning the enemy with a soup ladle, Wilbur grabbed the back of Tubbo’s hoodie and dragged him, kicking and screaming and sobbing, away.

He took the first corner he found, sliding behind Tubbo and Tommy’s house and dropping to the floor with Tubbo in his arms, who was still in hysteria. They were opposites. Tubbo’s shoes skidded on the floor, his hands flying to Wilbur’s chest, and his yelling loud enough to make Wilbur wonder if he would go deaf, and, well, Wilbur was staring into space and wondering if he would, could, go deaf. 

His hands were tight though, still fisted in the back of Tubbo’s hoodie and refusing to let go. One of Wilbur’s hands was covered in the blood of his best friend. He was covering the man in his arms in it, too. 

Would stopping the other-Tommy midway through saved Tommy or killed him? Was there any going back once it had started? 

Wilbur just kept holding on, kept staring across the settlement. The screaming had turned to sobs, a wet face buried in the crook of his neck as he looked with unseeing eyes. The sun was setting. He could see the potato patch he had been working in. The dead body of the other-Tubbo lay lifeless across the camp, and as Wilbur was looking at it he thought that it was a brilliant distraction until he realised that it was starting to grow. 

It looked like the thin, yellow leaves of an ash tree had sprouted from it, and as he blinked, the face of the other-Tubbo became invisible among the bark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A long lead into the main event of this one, but I hope you enjoyed it (if enjoyed is the right word) either way. Let me know what you think! 
> 
> Poor Tommy :( also Wilbur :(( and Tubbo :(((


	15. Chapter 14: Snowfall

The other-Techno looked at the three of them, at Niki holding her wrist to her stomach, at Phil on the floor with Techno’s crown on his head and a broken arm, and at the real Techno sitting beside Phil with both sides bleeding and his cheek stinging from the cut Niki gave him. But the other-Techno just sighed, readjusted the bundle of blue cloth he was carrying in both arms and took a few more steps towards the portal. 

He had barely enough time to take in his other’s appearance, but what he did notice was how pale its complexion was, how its shirt was a near luminescent white on the sleeves, and how the cloak was a deep, iron-red colour as if it had been stained with blood. 

Techno stood and moved between his other and the portal, his legs shaky from the electricity and blood loss. Phil stood up, his arm pressed against his chest and Niki shuffled on her feet, eyeing the bundle in the other-Techno’s arms. It seemed to be shaped like a person, covered in a pale blue fabric or, worryingly, like the cloth was a part of them. It dripped with a not-quite-blood substance, getting onto the other-Techno’s shirt and staining it a similar colour, along with the brown trousers it wore. 

But the other-Techno didn't do anything. It didn't lash out, or squeal like it apparently had in the other-world, and it didn't even look particularly angry. It just looked at them, then to Phil’s broken trident, and it opened gaping mouth to ask:

“You’re not planning on skewering me with that, are you?”

Phil took a step away from the other-Techno and the shattered trident, his back against the wall of darkness behind him, and yet he didn't step into it. The other-Techno raised an eyebrow at Techno, as if it were impressed with the atrocity he had committed. 

It took a moment for any of them to say anything. The portal was casting a light that was far greener than before, forcing the puddles in the stronghold to take on a similar sickly colour, and the three or so lanterns that were lit above them flickered as if they were running out of fuel. The bricks were catching the light too, as were the burnt leaves and branches above them. The rubble from the rockets had settled and a thin layer of brick dust was all over the room. Soon, they would be alone down there with only old stone for company, whether or not the other-Techno ended going through the portal. 

But the other-Techno just sighed at them, and it turned to Techno to ask, “Can I at least put her through the portal?”

“Her?” Techno asked and raised an eyebrow, and his other nodded. 

“It’s closing soon,” other-Techno said and moved a shoulder to gesture to the portal, shifting the bundle of fabric as he did, “and if she isn't through soon she might not turn out right.”

“What do you mean?”

“There's only so much time. There’s always so much time.”

Techno didn't respond, and it was impossible to tell if it was because he chose not to or that he didn't know what to say, and so he just stood to the side. His wound twinged. The other-Techno took the few steps up to the portal and, getting to its knees, it put the human shaped bundle of cloth into the portal in the same way someone would release a large fish into the wild, with an aching amount of respect and finality. Then, the huge not-half-druid stood and turned back to the other three, its arms empty and its sword on its back. Its eyes were dark as night, watery endless pools on its face, its figure imposing, and it took the few steps down towards the other three. 

Techno let it get closer before asking, “Were you the one that almost killed me?”

With something similar to a smirk (it was hard to tell in the light) the other-Techno responded, “Yep.”

“Why did you leave me alive, then?” Techno crossed his arms as if to disguise his wounds, “You could have easily just killed me, well, maybe not  _ easily… _ why did you let me live?”

“I’ll admit, you were a tough opponent, even when you couldn't see me,” but other-Techno sighed again before answering the question, “I just.. I wasn't ready to leave yet. I figured both of us would need to agree to it, either way.”

“I wouldn't have let you without knowing.”

“And I wouldn't have tried.” 

“So if you eat him,” Niki spoke up for the first time in ages, “you’ll combine and be immortal, yes?”

“Yeah, that’s right.”

“Who was that?” Phil asked quietly, as if he really didn't want to ask but was being forced to, “the one you put through?”

The other-Techno looked over at him, its face so hard to read that even an educated guess would never have done it justice, but the way that it spoke said all the emotion it needed to. Loss, grieving, like seeing a photograph of someone young when they had just lost their life to age. It looked away from Phil before it spoke. 

“That was Niki,” it said, and the real Niki drew a sharp breath, “She’s been made here, like I said.”

“Why?” she asked, taking a step back.

“The ones made here are always put together better. When George, Fundy and all the others wake up they won't last as long as her. We’ll have to grow them inside.”

“Inside the portal?” Techno asked him, genuinely curious. There were more and more technicalities, loopholes and addons with these guys by the minute. 

“Yep,” it even popped its ‘P’s in the same way Techno did, “It’s closing soon, remember?”

Techno waited for a moment, assessing the tree-person before him. It had a cloak, long and a deep crimson like his own, but it was embroidered with satin leaves that were slightly darker than the rest of the cloak, while Techno’s own was pure velvet. Their shirt was stained with a red coloured fluid, too pale to be blood and too viscous to be anything else, but it reminded Techno of sap or something. He knew that he was completely out of his depth when it came to the anatomy of these guys, but it was something that just seemed so important when compared to everything else he needed to find out, and with the limited timescale, then he had to pick and choose what information he searched for. 

“Are you going to go through?” Techno asked his other. The portal behind him made a deep chiming noise, the same as before, and Techno knew that it had to mean something. The other-Techno seemed to know it too and it turned to look at him, expression unreadable. 

“No,” it said, “Not if you’ll let me stay here.”

Phil drew a breath but said nothing. Niki took a few steps back towards Phil, her feet sloshing through a puddle, and Techno took a step towards his other. 

“Guide my hand,” he said, offering his hoof for other-Techno to take, “Tell me what to do.” 

“Please don't do this, Techno,” Phil asked, pleaded, and while the pig looked at his mentor he said nothing. Niki put her good hand on Phil, as if the man was in any condition to fight the pig’s will. 

Techno’s heart was heavy and hot in his chest, knowing that he was doing something that would hurt his friends but would make his own life so, so much better. Niki gripped Phil with her good hand, the other tucked into her coat as she watched from behind Phil’s shoulder, but from where Techno stood it was like she was holding him up. Techno gazed at them, his throat sticky and close, but he blinked away the wetness in his eyes and let his hand fall into his other’s. The other-Techno seemed indifferent. 

“Is this your long goodbye?” it asked.

“I don't need to give one, now do I? Not really, anyway.”

“Techno,” Niki said quietly, but Techno pretended not to hear. It was easier when he couldn’t see her and Phil. He suspected the look on the older man’s face would haunt him. It was less painful, living in ignorance, and sometimes Techno could indulge. 

“No,” other-Techno smiled, “I suppose not. But this is mine. It’s been awful knowing you all. Thank you for murdering my friends, and thank you for coming here when you did. After this moment, I will never know what became of all of you, or of us, and I think that’s for the better.” he looked to Techno, “Now, I’ll be gentle. It’s quickest on the neck.” 

Techno bent his head, exposing his neck, letting his eyes close, and the other-Techno pulled the collar of his shirt down to further expose the flesh. The other-Techno opened its maw of razor-like teeth, showing its saliva to the skin, and the teeth scraped along the space between Techno’s jaw and fabric. Though his breath heaved, brave in the face of evil, Techno felt no pain as his other gently nicked his neck, savouring the taste and severing the skin. The sharp edges sank in the flesh and through the layers of skin, fat and muscle, so that bright blood seeped over Techno’s shoulders and down into his clothing. He could still breathe. The ache in his sides, his knees from walking, his cheek from the slice to his face disappeared among the other overwhelming feelings. The blood, heady, red, fresh, dripped to the floor, and when Techno finally saw his blood blotting the earth, his existence faded, fizzed, and ceased. 

The portal behind them slid closed like an eclipse, slow at first and then all at once, a great shadow sliding over the surface and closing it with a final chime of the cathedral-like bell. The gate between the two worlds had closed. 

And he awoke.

“Ugh,” he said, “Ugh, what the hell.”

Techno was on the floor, why was he on the floor? And where on earth was he if trees were growing, then burning, on the ceiling? He could see the brick through the thinning leaves, and a lit lantern hanging through them, but whoever made his place had some serious decor choices to revaluate. 

His back stuck to the floor as he shifted, which was great because it meant that he was soaking wet now, and his stomach protested at the movement as it jostled what felt like a large amount of liquid inside him, tilting him to and fro and making him seasick without the boat.

“Ugh,” he said, raising a hoof to his head, “ugh, I’m going to be sick.”

“Please don't be sick, Techno,” Someone – Niki – said to him, “We need to leave, please don't be sick.”

“I don't know if I can control myself like that,” he said and belched, “Ugh, that tastes awful.”

He looked around the room, and oh, he was here. The stronghold looked completely different when there wasn't that sickly white light illuminating the whole place, and while the lanterns were still lit above them, they were weak and cast very little light at all. He couldn’t see any of the walls. When Techno craned his neck to look around him, he saw Niki holding him with one hand, the other tucked into her coat, attempting to drag him towards the staircase with a futile amount of strength, and Phil holding a lantern to ward back the darkness. Like Niki, his other arm was also tucked into his coat, but it stuck out strangely, like he was holding his wrist in an intentionally uncomfortable position. If Techno wasn't able to walk, like he had been when Sapnap had found him way back when, then they might have been stuck down there until they made or found an alternate way out. 

“I feel fine,” he said, “let me up.” 

Niki let go of her hold beneath his armpit and Techno pushed himself up onto his elbows, his back aching from where it had been resting on the hard floor and his head feeling strange from the sudden movement. He huffed, breathed for a moment, before he looked back at the two of them. Niki was still sitting on the bottom step behind Techno, her hair a mess from being damp and dirty for so long, and Phil’s own hair looked to be in a similar state despite his hat, and now, his crown too. 

And the crown sparked a remembrance in him, of Phil being brought to his knees in anguish by Techno’s actions, and of Techno giving it to him as a form of comfort. He reached for his own head and after feeling the fine hairs on his skin, the soft flesh of his ears, he eventually found another crown, cold where it wasn't touching his skin and a rougher texture than his own. And, and.

Oh. Oh, that’s what happened. 

Techno looked down at his hooves, at the grain of the wood in his dew claws and the texture of them as he ran them across one another. They were polished, like his own, and well cared for. He could tell, however, that they were not his. These were not his hands. There was no skin that shifted as he touched it, instead having the velvet-like texture of a lamb’s-ear leaf, and the fabric of his clothes was stained with the same sap-like substance that the other-Techno had been covered in before, along with his own blood. He touched his mouth, feeling the harsh sting as his hoof made contact with the incredibly sharp teeth, and when he pulled it away from his mouth he saw the red colour of blood on his hoof. 

He looked back at the other two in the low light of the lantern and blinked, staring up at them both as if they had answers for the question he didn't know how to say, but they just looked at him.

“Is something on my face?”

Phil looked like he wanted to hit him. 

“Where’s my sword?”

“Over there,” Niki said, standing too, “we couldn't carry it.”

Techno slid down the stairs, crawled, not trusting his legs, and as he remerged in the room, which was now only lit with two, weak lanterns, he saw himself there. The other-Techno, the one from flesh and meat, the one which used to be him, had one hand over its blood-stained stomach and one to its side in another pool of blood, a leg raised and ripped cloak spilled down behind it. The cloak was detached, and it was as if the body had intentionally been laid out on it. Techno felt something inside him shift at the sight and he had to look away, and he wished that the tree version of him had been more brutal, had made him unrecognisable, for seeing his own corpse look more alseep than dead disturbed him. 

But Techno persisted, and he pulled the cloak beneath his own body, the one from the corpse, free. He unhooked the holster for his sword and took that too, before sliding it to join the one already on his back. After taking both swords and sheathing them, Techno knelt beside himself and looked.

There was a small scar on the corpse’s lip. He tongued his own. No mark. 

The other two let him have his moment of contemplation. Techno wished that there was a better way to give a burial than to leave the corpse in a cellar of an unknown dungeon, but what else was there? There was no appropriate or written down response when dealing with your own dead body. 

Maybe, he thought, in spring he could come and do something with it. George had mentioned hibernation, so coming back in the winter wouldn't be possible, but in spring they might have found an ocean to set the body adrift in, or gathered enough wood for a cremation, or both. It felt fitting so set his own sword off with the body though, but for now, Techno stood with both. 

“Please,” Niki sighed on the staircase and had her good hand up on her face, “Please can we just go? I’m going to get hypothermia if we stay out here much longer.”

And Phil nodded, looking back up at the staircase before turning his attention to Techno. “Can you walk?” he asked, sounding exhausted, “I can't carry you and hold the lantern at the same time.”

“Are you calling me fat?” Techno asked, struggling to stand upright and climb the staircase at the same time, considering the low ceiling and how his legs felt like jelly. 

“He is,” Niki said for him, “you should climb the stairs to get some exercise.” 

“Rude,” Techno said as he took the first few steps on his new, same, legs, “both of you are just so rude.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Really hope this doesn't read weird, since this chapter has just switched spaces with the one that was supposed to go before it. I thought it made more sense since the next one feels more like a resolution and this one is a bit of a continuation, but it was very last minute. if it doesn't work, im sorry, and pls let me know. I might change it again when the work is completed. 
> 
> Just as a warning for the next chapter, which I'll repeat when I post it, there's discussion of suicide in the next chapter. No actual graphic descriptions, and the character is still alive, but it's mentioned and I know that can be upsetting for some people, so please take caution. 
> 
> Again, thank you for reading! I'll catch you tomorrow for the next chapter :)


	16. Chapter 15: Ice Bridge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning for discussion of suicide. Nothing explicit, but mentioned. Please take care.

“So,” Ant asked as Bad was making them a cup of tea to calm them all the hell down, “Dream. What the fuck was that?”

“Language,” Bad commented, but it was rather half-hearted.

The wind and sky poured snow onto the landscape outside, and while the darkness had not eased its billowing and edging into their spaces, Bad’s house was as well-lit and welcoming as could be, given the circumstances, and none of them wanted to mention how thankful they were for it. The small windows on either side of the tower had snow piling up on the panes and against the lead lining blocking the darkness’ sight into the house. Skeppy was still hanging his head, his hands wrapped around the still warm but empty cup. His mask still had its tongue out, although, Dream supposed he couldn't put it away. 

The porcelain mask watched him on the table, white beneath the areas of dirt he had rubbed off by accident. Its eyes were empty. He avoided eye contact.

“Dude, Dream,” Skeppy said, feeling Dream’s eyes on him, “Stop looking at me and answer Ant’s question.” 

“Did you know that guy?” Ant asked, “He looked like someone we knew, just… different.”

“Technoblade,” Dream said. There wasn’t any point in hiding it now.

Ant took a sharp breath, and since Bad had his hood down, Dream could see him look up at the wall as he registered the name. Skeppy twitched, looking at Dream properly now. 

This was the thing. Dream was running out of time before winter, he was running out of truths to keep to himself, and he was running out of skin on his teeth. He was terrible with words, just to add to it all, and they were expecting him to use them soon. Ant raised an eyebrow at him, and he moved his arms out before him as if to encourage him, or to tell Dream to talk quicker. Bad turned around with the tea, some kind of flowery brew, and put the four cups down on the table before them all. 

“That wasn't Technoblade,” Dream told them as if Ant couldn't tell.

“I know, he looked like you, of the same species or whatever, but he said that he didn't know you.”

“I’ve met the Techno you guys know,” Dream told them, “the one from this world.”

“This world?” Bad asked, “where’s this other-Techno from, then? The Nether? Did he have a love for gold? Or was he half decayed?”

“I don't think there’s a name for it, and I don’t think it’s whatever this Nether is, but… but I was from the same place too, at one point.” 

Bad took a seat on the other side of the table, kicking his legs out beneath it into the free space since Skeppy was still facing away, whose legs were sticking out from the table and near to Ant’s chair. Bad looked over at Dream, deeply confused and tired, and he settled a stare on Dream’s masked face as if it would convince him to explain the things he himself could hardly understand, but it worked. 

“It’s another world,” Dream said in a rush, “there was a portal below another tower like this that we found, one that led to another world, but the portal below this tower is broken. I think the other-Techno came here to do something with the cornus and then left for the other portal.”

“Great, Bad, now your tower isn't just infested with some creepy weed but it’s something these freaks want.”

“Strange hill to die on,” Bad snapped at him, “This argument you keep bringing up about my house. You’re better than this.”

“‘You’re better than this’.” Skeppy mocked, but Ant talked over them. He was the intelligent one, Dream decided. 

“Why did he look like Technoblade?” he asked, and Dream wished that he and Ant had sat next to each other so that the two of them could actually hear one another. Ant noticed it too, it seemed, and he stood up.

“Dream, will you come upstairs with me?”

“Why can't he stay here?” Skeppy asked, gesturing with a flat hand to the room, but Ant wasn’t having it.

“You two obviously still need to talk, and I want answers, ones that I can _hear_. Now, Dream, if you’d please?”

There wasn't any way out, and so Dream stood and grabbed his cup of unknown tea and the other mask, before he let Ant lead him up the spiral staircase and into the second floor. It seemed mostly for storage, but there was another stove on the far wall with a chimney running further up in the tower, and Ant took the time to light it even with the lanterns illuminating the room, if only for the extra heat. There were no blankets, carpets or pillows already out on the second floor, but Ant fished around in a chest for a couple, letting Dream pick between a yellow one and a cyan one, before they both sat down on the floor. He held the tea in both hands and eyed the mask out the corner of his eye. It watched him.

“So, there’s a broken portal in the basement, you think these other-people come here for the cornus, and you said, back then, that they do ‘something’ with it. That’s not true, not really anyway, right?”

“What do you mean?” Dream asked. His sleeves were completely white now. If he didn't bear in mind the cold then his hair would fall out like it had the year before, especially if he was caught in a frost again. The heat was nice though, keeping him thawed for now.

“You know now what the cornus does.”

Dream paused, looking at Ant even though he couldn’t see him, but then nodded slowly. 

“They’re made from it, it seems.” 

“Do they have to be made here?” Ant asked, “in our world?”

“I don't know. They might prefer it for some reason.”

“But you don't know for certain?”

“No.” 

Ant leaned back in his blanket, the cyan colour contrasting greatly with his coat but matching his eyes pretty well, and in the well-lit room his shadow was scattered thinly in five different directions. Five false impressions of a real self. Funny, Dream thought, but also not funny at all.

“Do you remember more now, since we found the, uh, the other mask?” Ant asked, and it was a welcome change of subject.

The stove across the room made a swirling sound as a strong gust of wind blew over the chimney outside, and the fire inside went out and relit itself. Dream let out a breath as it came back on, because even though there were five other lanterns in the room the habit hadn't shook itself. There were some things he forgot about immediately since leaving the first world and entering this second one, like how to make an axe, and how to hold your breath for a really long time, but some things he’d never forget. 

Or at least he could tell himself that. 

“There was a tower,” he blurted after thinking about it, “there was a tower, a massive tower, a fortress, almost, made out of–“ he gestured to the walls, “this stuff. It was huge, there were not any lights, no lanterns or fire or a sun, but there weren’t any dark corners or anything either. Not really. And there was a staircase that went down and down and down forever. I remember going down there because I was bored and– and I didn't want to talk to someone else. I don't– I remember saying that I’d remember them.” 

Dream took a sharp breath. He exhaled, inhaled, exhaled. He was thankful that Ant gave him the time to do so. When he had settled down slightly he continued.

“I don't think it was the same person, the same one I didn't want to talk to and the one I would remember. I don't… I don't remember their names or faces, but, like, the general _motion_ of them is there. The one I wanted to remember used to cut their meat into cubes before eating it.” A pause. “And the other one, the one I disliked always… always tossed their hair to the side. Nothing else. Names, faces… nothing.” 

Dream was looking at his feet. Commotion came from downstairs, but Ant and Dream in that moment were in their own little pocket, their own bubble, and the only noise was the cracking of the fire and the howl of the wind outside. They existed together, two separate worlds in the same room. 

“I went down and I found a chamber,” Dream said, “it wasn't at the bottom but it was further down than any of us had been before. And… and inside was one of these,” he put his hand in his pocket, and in the bright light of the room the glowstone didn't glow at all. Ant leaned forward to look at it, intrigue clear on his face, and Dream rolled the stone around his palm so that the golden glitter-in-water effect was visible to him. 

“I’ve kept it with me,” he said, “sometimes I’ve found more, sometimes I’ve lost them, but I’ve always had at least one. And you know how I used to… used to know them based on the actions I associated with them? I think me, looking into this stone, was what they’d remember me by. For a long time after I left the other world it was me and the stone. I don't remember anything about most of those worlds. I don't even know how I remember my name or if I made it up at some point, but… but I remember hardly anything, and I remember two things at once. Two sets of friends. Two favourite foods. Two… two homes. And I remember all the useless things. I’m not supposed to remember one of those groups, but maybe I do, or maybe I’m making that up too. What am I supposed to do with remembering the specific way a lotus flower smells? Or how the sunlight on one specific mountain goes from red to orange to green when I can never go back there?”

Ant listened to his piece in silence, and then spoke.

“I think I understand what you mean,” he said, “I won't pretend to understand completely but I understand the whole, ‘living in so many worlds that we forget a few of them’. There was one time where if I didn't have a _perfect_ start, I’m talking, shelter, company, a decent number of animals and food around, then I’d intentionally get myself killed. Sometimes by monsters, sometimes by falling, and sometimes by my own two hands.” Ant huffed out a laugh, but it was a weak, timid sort of thing, as if in hindsight he didn’t know what to think of it. He continued, “It was awful. I kept doing it. I almost made it a competition to see how far I could take it. How quick. And then Bad grabbed me as I was about to go into the ocean with a pocket full of rocks and I was like, no, that’s dumb. It’s not the same thing as you, I'm not pretending it is, but… I think I get it a little bit. I don't remember half those worlds, what was wrong with them if anything, and not even the way they ended.

“How many days bleed into one another when we’re not looking? If we don't pay attention, if we don't write every single thing down, we never remember the mundane. Our lives look interesting because we remember the moments of unrest; the house on fire, the rolling down the hill, the fight for our lives, but there was a point in time where I spent an entire season planting carrots and I only remember like three moments from it. Fifty or so days, and three little memories. It’s like we’re not made to remember anything the universe deems as unimportant. I don't remember fifty days of work but I remember losing my shoe to a fox and Skeppy laughing at me until he threw up, or watching all of the firework storage in our old world go up in flames, or meeting Bad for the first time. Our lives are defined by tragedy, by unrest, and we hardly remember anything else.”

“Are we supposed to be sane?” Dream asked, “Are we supposed to remember the things we read word for word or the conversations by every little motion? This is all so much. It’s always so much.”

“No,” Ant said, “and if your life bleeds into one another, I don't think there’s anything wrong with forgetting the ‘normal’ stuff. It’s the important stuff,” he put his hand over Dream’s, “that matters. It’s remembering the person that cuts up their food, or the moment you found something really special. I can forget the times I killed myself over and over for all I care, but I never want to forget about Bad pulling me out of the water. I never want to forget the good things, you know?”

Dream laughed, his voice choked a little bit from the tears that Ant couldn't see. He squeezed the other man’s hand in his own, a connection of flesh and flesh that he hadn't felt in days, and he just wanted to go home. He wanted to see George, and even Sapnap and the others, and he wanted to go to sleep for a long time somewhere safe and forget about the world for a while. 

“What’s the plan now?” Dream asked, and as Ant opened his mouth, a knock sounded at the door downstairs. 

There was a heavy pause, and Skeppy’s voice came from the stairwell below them. 

“There’s a light outside,” Skeppy said. 

Another knock. A creaking door. 

“Bad?” a voice asked. Dream stood. He left the other mask, the version of himself from before, behind. 

“Oh my goodness! Oh, come in! You look half-frozen to death. Oh goodness. Hang on, there’s more blankets upstairs, Ant! Dream!” 

“Dream?” the same voice asked, and even though no sound could have ever been so sweet, Dream wasn't listening to it right then, not really, anyway. 

“George!” 

“You fucking–“ 

And, yeah ouch, Dream probably deserved it but being slapped was never fun. 

“George…” Dream said, sprawled out on the staircase now. His mask was loose but Dream didn't care, he just took in the mixture of emotions on George’s face, along with Fundy and Sapnap’s too. The fear lingering from their sprint through the darkness (they must have been moving since nightfall, a few hours or so ago), the flushed red on their cheeks or puffed-up hair from the cold, the fury in George’s eyes even with the fogged-up glasses, and the pure, tangible disbelief on everyone's faces but his own. The mask slipped free, and while Dream knew that his eyes had turned the unsettling black that meant winter was well and truly among them, he couldn't care less. He grinned, which felt nice.

Despite the snowfall, the darkness, the wind and the horrid feeling that lingered since running away from their home, Dream stood and grabbed George’s cold face in both hands, soft like a peach but damn near freezing.

“You’ve got a new jacket,” Dream said.

“I do,” George breathed, and he seemed to curse himself as he continued, “is it nice?” 

“It… it’s kind of ugly.”

“Shut up.”

And Dream did. Although, George may have forced him to with how hard he pressed their lips together. 

And that was nice too. Nice and new. George wrapped both of his hands around Dream’s and kissed him with sharp teeth and desperate force, but Dream couldn’t tell if it was his teeth that were sharp or if George was just that desperate. Dream didn’t try to pull his hands away, just let George hold him captive and sighed into it.

“I missed you guys so much.”

Sapnap was ugly-crying, snot coming out of his nose in a way Bad would usually be squeamish over, if not for the fact that he was too busy hugging Sapnap into his shoulder to notice. Skeppy was too busy forcing Sapnap into Bad’s shoulder to notice either, and Ant was too busy being held against Sapnap by both Bad and Skeppy at the same time, even if he didn’t really know Sapnap that well. Ant didn't struggle though, and he held out a hand from the group to give to Fundy, who laughed and held onto it tightly too. 

George was still busy gripping onto Dream as if he was about to run away again at any moment, and Dream just lay limply down, his bleached hair and clothes contrasting with the bright blues of George’s own. At least they were looking up now, no longer too obsessed with one another to notice the other reunion happening at the same time.. 

While Sapnap did eventually pull back from the group hug, wiping his eyes with a filthy hand as if it did anything to help his appearance, the moment had been broken. Bad still held on to his hand, and Skeppy and Ant began to talk with Fundy, then to George as well. 

Eventually when the tears had dried and they had calmed down enough to talk properly, they looked between one another.

George was still pressed to Dream’s side, still holding his hand with a grip tight enough to make Dream wince, and Sapnap sat between Bad and Ant, while Fundy was between Ant and Skeppy. In the cramped confines of the bottom of the tower, with the wind howling outside and snow continuing to smother the world in white, there wasn't a lot of space, but none of them seemed to mind.

“I think the darkness will pass,” Dream broke their silence, drawing attention to himself, “I think it has something to do with the moon.”

“Right,” George said as he brushed his thumb over Dream’s knuckles, “I’m glad to hear it. But why did it last so long in your old worlds? The ones you remember?” 

“I don't think I ever lived long enough to see the end of it.”

Ant winced slightly, “But you’ve seen it now, so that counts for something, right?” 

Dream nodded, glad not for the first time that he could contain his expressions even without his mask, which was off to the side and on one of the steps upstairs. The other, porcelain one was still on the floor above. He answered Ant, “It does.”

“You guys should move to our settlement for winter,” Sapnap said, his nose still stuffy from crying, “We’ve got buildings and stuff, and there’s a lot of us now, and we should have enough food for all of us, I think.”

“Where _did_ you guys go?” Ant asked, “We spawned by this big hill and went south-east, chasing some birds we saw. Did you guys just go in a different direction?”

“I think so. We were south of there too, just more westward.”

“Not west enough to meet up with us,” Fundy said, “We were in a birch forest, these three in a spruce, and now you three in an oak one. Funny coincidence.” 

“I think we could,” Bad said, but Skeppy talked over him.

“Are you sure you’ll have space? We’ve got two houses over here, and it’s only a couple of days walk, right?”

“Maybe longer, but...“ Ant paused, “Are we sure that we will not want to stick together? After everything?”

They paused, thinking back on the events that they had seen, the things in Bad’s basement, and the darkness waiting just outside Skeppy and Ant’s front door. 

“Maybe we can, just for this winter,” Bad conceded, and Skeppy sighed. 

“Did you at least find what you were looking for?” Fundy asked after another quiet moment had passed, and he was holding his tail in both hands to stop it from swishing from side to side with anxiousness, although it may have been excitement. The wind howled outside, a creature raging against the world it was forced into, and Fundy’s tail fuzzed up like a pufferfish. 

“I think I’m made from cornus,” Dream said, “and that all the tree-people are. And I was in the other-world before this one, but I don't remember much about… about being me before this. I think I might not remember because I’m older than the others are.” 

“So why did that guy look like Techno?” Ant asked.

George, Sapnap and Fundy all looked up, with Bad and Skeppy seeming interested as well now that their argument had been resolved. Dream looked between them all, and he wished he could put his mask back on without them all questioning it too, but George seemed to understand that he wasn’t used to the attention and answered for him.

“Uhm,” George said, “It’s a long story?”

“We have time?” Skeppy said, “right? We do have time.”

“I guess,” Dream said, “It feels weird thinking it, but yeah. I think we do have some time.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> early upload + no customary second glance. more notes next chapter, and two uploads tonight bc other one would be lacklustre on its own. Enjoy! let me know what you think!


	17. Chapter 16: Two Worlds

The Over-world, _Other-world_ and **Darkness** stood over two separate watery pools of light. 

**It is done.**

_Untangled._

Autumn has ended. 

_Are we ready to depart then?_

Not quite. We need to check.

_Is the cornus leafless?_

**Yes.**

Is your darkness gone?

**Yes.**

Then we must plan for the next time our strings cross. 

_Is the universe ready? Has it reached with its beckoning hand?_

**Not yet. It will be, but when?**

Soon for us, an eternity for them.

_The crossroads have passed._

**The ice bridge has melted.**

The two worlds are separate and the light has come and gone. 

**When shall we three meet again? In light, darkness, or in rain?**

When we worlds have had our fun, when the battle is lost and won…

_That will be over with the setting sun, where will be this place?_

**On the heath.**

The moor, the hill, the centre of the world, the burial mound is for our stuff.

**Under wavering skies we’ll do as we must.**

_As we cast unknown illusions, we will bring these worlds to conclusion._

Well, stitch, knit, sew and split, what future is there if we don't create it? 

_Thank you for joining me._

**Thank you both.**

Yes, and thank you too. 

I _always enjoy our time together so much._

Creation and destruction are equally satisfying. 

**It is a shame we can never have longer.**

Distance makes the heart grow fonder. 

_I wonder what that’s like?_

Well, as we depart, we shall do what we will.

**The light will fade.**

The snow will fall.

_And silence._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omniscient entities, what will they do.
> 
> As mentioned, this chapter felt dumb to post on its own so I'm posting it on the same day as the previous one. The final chapter will be uploaded tomorrow, and the epilogue probably tomorrow or the next. I'm also thinking about doing an author's note separately which answers some questions and links all the beautiful fics that inspired me, and I want to ask: would people prefer that on AO3 as a separate piece attached to the end of the series (and for fandom I'll just put 'original work' or something) or as a link to a post on my Tumblr? 
> 
> Let me know what you think! have a good one!


	18. Chapter 17: Archipelago

Silence had fallen. 

Not a single bird chirped to announce the day, although they may have not been able to hear them on account of the snow, and yet as the occupants of the settlement awoke and stretched, they knew that the world was out there waiting for them. Every time they awoke it was there, but sometimes, like then, it felt a little different. A little more special. 

“I think tomorrow,” Dream said, his voice quiet as if it would shatter the tranquillity of the morning, as if he could break the frozen river and throw the snow back up into the sky. 

George nodded, and Dream felt it more so than saw it. “Are you going-” he stopped himself before he continued, “would you like to spend it here?”

And Dream nodded too. George had gotten up early to light the stove, and the room was only just beginning to get warm as the sun started to stream through the windows, uninterrupted by the foliage closer to the forest floor that had blocked out the light in summer. He could see condensation on the windows from their breath during the night, and while Dream knew they’d have to get up eventually, he still pulled the duvet further up.

“Dream,” George said, his head now buried in both the sheets and Dream’s chest. 

“Yeah?”

“We need to get up.”

Dream sighed, his breath mingling with the air. George’s head moved against his shoulder, his downy brown hair brushing over Dream in a wave as he looked up at the other man through his eyelashes. Dream smiled and said, “in a little bit.” 

He could feel her humming through his skull, could feel the sleeves of her coat brushing on his back as she rubbed it, could feel the itchy-hot and gross feeling after he had finally calmed down enough to breathe properly. His hands gripped the sides of the coat, and he felt underdressed in his pyjamas and bed sheets, but Wilbur didn't have anywhere else to go hide when she had found him like that, and he didn't really want to escape now. Yet despite everything, he did feel a little better. Still tearful, but better.

“I don't want our last memory of you to last all winter to be your tearful face,” Niki said, stopping her humming but her lips brushed through his hair, “Put on a brave face for me, okay?”

“I don't think I can,” Wilbur whispered, voice still stuffy, “I don't know if I can even try.”

“You will.”

“Niki, Niki I’m going to go to sleep, go damn near death for an entire season, and I won’t be able to make sure you, or anyone, is okay, and, and I don’t know if I can try and put on a brave face when everyone I look at will be, is, Niki– “

“Wilbur, please,” she said, voice soft, “for me. You will.”

Wilbur swallowed, his head still held against Niki’s heart, and murmured to her, “I will.” 

“Will Wilbur mind?”

Tommy seemed to startle as Tubbo spoke up, which was weird since it didn’t seem like Tommy had been doing anything that he’d be too absorbed in or secretive about. He didn’t even have anything in front of him, just the counter space in their kitchen-ish area and the bucket of water on the counter.

“Nah, naw. He won’t.” Tommy turned back to the counter and put something down, and as he walked away Tubbo caught sight of what it was that Tommy was doing, despite the other’s best attempts to hide it.

“Tommy,” Tubbo came over, and Tommy made a grab for the carving knife.

“Hey, no,” he said, but Tubbo was already stepping back with it.

“What were you doing with this?” he asked, and his voice shook slightly.

Tommy just blew out a breath in exasperation, as if he was about to try and play it off as a joke or as if he was doing something innocent with the nothing and the knife on the counter, but at the look in Tubbo’s eyes he quieted. With a twitch of his eyebrow, the tree-person finally admitted it.

“I wanted to see if I still bleed.”

A still moment settled over them in their terrible house, and even though Tommy could definitely see the confusion, debate, and then abject horror on Tubbo’s face as he realised exactly what Tommy had been doing with the knife, he didn’t speak up again. Tubbo opened his mouth, closed it, and then opened it again.

“maybe you should wait to see that instead of forcing the issue.”

Tommy raised an eyebrow, then dropped it. he spoke up, “But then I won’t know, and in the moment I won’t remember.”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you usually think of the colour of your own blood when you’re hurt?”

“Well, clearly you do.”

Tommy threw up a hand, exasperated, and he grabbed the knife out of Tubbo’s hand. Before the younger of the two could protest, however, he threw it into a draw and slammed it shut.

“Whatever,” he said, but Tubbo grabbed his arm before he could storm past and out of the house.

“Tommy,” Tubbo said, and the only thing that kept Tommy there was how quietly he said it, “Don’t do that, okay?”

Tommy swallowed, and said with the promise of someone who was definitely going to try something stupid again, “I won’t.”

“Don’t you find it weird?” Fundy asked him again, and Techno just shrugged to respond, the half-eaten turkey thigh still in one hand and the rest of the bird butchered and splayed out on the table.

It was a clean kill, with its skin still mostly unmarked and the only part damaged being the head, but then again Techno never doubted Fundy’s efficiency. Maybe he’d have to learn how to use a crossbow in spring to help him hunt, especially since going out into the woods was going to become a normality in his future life. It was, after all, a good time to be planning ahead for that sort of thing. He’d be able to face the list he’d made well-rested and determined, with the weariness of winter no longer a thing holding him back. He had this in the bag.

“I just, seeing you go from a herbivore to a carnivore seems weird.”

“I was omnivorous.”

“Huh?”

Fundy looked at him across the big table in Techno’s house, his ears flickering up towards the other half-druid as if to double check he hadn't misheard. Techno just nodded for a moment around another bite of turkey and wiped his mouth when he went to speak.

“Yeah, pigs are omnivorous. They eat meat. That’s why so many domestic pigs or other half-druids like me cut their ears and tails, it’s to stop us from going into a blood frenzy thing. It’s dangerous if you can’t control yourself.”

“Is that true?” Fundy seemed horrified, and he pulled his legs against his chest in his chair as if Techno was going to grab them and pull them off at any moment. 

“Why wouldn't it be true? I had these tusks before becoming a tree-thing, so it’s not like all my teeth are new.” He gestured to the tusks before putting his hand down, letting it rest on the table with the rest of the carcass, “tusks are a carnivore thing, usually. It’s like your ones, just bigger.”

Fundy eyed the half-druid and sighed, putting his legs down again. “I meant to ask,” he said, “have you spoken to Phil?”

Techno stopped chewing, looking over at Fundy before swallowing and putting down the meat to address him fully. “Sort of. We’re… working on it. I don't think things will ever go back to whatever ‘normal’ we had before, regardless of how we push and pull them. But yeah, working on it. And,” Techno said, ''I’ve been meaning to ask you too; how is living with Ant?” 

Fundy smiled. 

“It’s better than living with Wilbur and Niki, way better.”

“How so?”

“Well, they tried to be quiet but never really achieved it.” 

“Oh.”

“I still can't believe this,” Wilbur said, pacing back and forth and putting both hands in his hair, pulling it in fistfuls, “I’ve got all winter, all summer, all of _eternity_ to spend with you now. I didn't think of this before. Why didn't I think of this before? This is awful.”

“Aw, Wilbur,” Tommy said, grinning in a really unsettling way that showed his teeth from front to back, “won't you like it? Spending so much time with little old me?”

“ _No.”_

“But we can fish and cook and plant stuff and sew – Oh, you can teach me to knit! This time I might actually have enough time to learn it!”

“Oh _god,”_ Wilbur pressed his hands to his face and leaned his elbows on the round table in his kitchen, dragging them down his face and pulling his skin (skin?) down with it. He pressed his knuckles to his eyes, saying, “this is a dream, I’ll wake up and I’ll be back with everyone in the old world, I’ll be asleep, and I’ll wake up.” 

Tommy laughed, cackled, “Naw, we’re here! Wide awake, making this… apple and something chutney together. Hey, what do you think will happen if we put, I don't know, like a bunch of onions in here?”

“It’s apple and apricot, and if you put onions in I’ll kill you, that is what would happen. We’d have to start the whole thing again.” 

“Aw, Wilbur. Wouldn’t you want that?”

“No? Of course not?”

Tommy went quiet. 

“Tommy.” 

“Well.”

“Mate, do you have a moment?”

George let the axe come to rest in his hands, turning his head to watch as Phil came towards him. They were a little ways eastwards of the river, and even though they could distantly hear water, everything else was muted under the fine layer of snow which had managed to sneak past the spruce branches above them. 

“Yeah,” George let the head of the axe bury itself in the stump, “What’s up?”

“I, uh, this is going to sound stupid.”

He did that thing as he said the word, where it came out sounding like a double ‘O’ instead of a ‘U’, and George’s lip quirked. 

“Go ahead,” he insisted, “plenty of my questions feel like that, too.”

“Just,” Phil took a seat on one of the stumps nearby, his elytra fluttering to move out the way and his broken arm looking awkward in the cast Skeppy had slapped on it. Phil continued, “I’m worried.”

George slowly nodded. The older man went on.

“Do you think they’ll need to be heated in their own homes? Like, should I go around to Techno’s and make sure the fire is still lit? Or will Tommy and Wilbur, since they’re just so skinny, will they need to be woken up and need to eat something? Or– or will, do you think, will they suffer if they’re left alone? Will they need extra blankets or anything?” 

George watched Phil go on, as he worked himself up into a frenzy of questions and answered half of them himself, and as the older man began to calm down and finish up his worried rambling, George walked over and sat down on another nearby stump, his dumb-looking coat stiff from where Sapnap had helped him wax it the previous day. Waterproofing was often as necessary as keeping warm, and George was thankful for it after it had briefly snowed in the mid-morning It had stopped now, but there was still the lingering moisture on his coat. 

“Phil,” George said gently, putting his arms out in front of him and clasping his hands together, “They can survive the cold fine. It’s like deciduous trees, you know? So long as they don't get… I don't know, broken or whatever it should be fine.” 

“And will they need to eat or anything? Should I go hunting now, or – ?”

“I think so long as they eat something today it’ll be okay. Dream ate almost immediately after waking up last time, so I guess we’ll just have to wait until then and have something ready.”

“But,” Phil’s fist opened and closed, and he took a breath to calm himself. He sighed, hung his head, and George shifted slightly. 

It wasn't often that he was in this position, and even less often that Phil would turn to him specifically. The older man had a habit of going directly to whoever was best when he actually needed advice for himself, and so while George couldn't argue that he was the best option for it, he still felt out of place sitting on the stump and waiting. 

“I feel like I need to do more,” Phil eventually said, and he reached for his bag which was slung over his shoulder. From where George sat, he could only see the firework rockets sticking out of it, but as Phil rummaged around, he pulled free Techno’s old crown. 

The pig’s crown had been an interesting thing to discover when they had eventually returned to the settlement with Bad, Skeppy and Ant in tow, and while Phil didn't often wear it (and this was the first time George had seen it since Phil initially showed them, putting it on), it had become something of a periapt for the older man. He carried it often, regardless of its weightiness, but never really wore it. 

George eyed the three green gemstones which sat just inside the bezel. They looked a lot like emeralds, if a tad darker, and apparently they were enchanted for luck. He didn't know what the blue, now white, gems on the crown Techno wore now meant, but Phil looked into the gemstones as if Techno was already dead. 

“Ask him about it,” George said to him, and Phil looked up from the crown, “Ask him if he wants to stay. Maybe Tubbo and Tommy can move in with Niki as well since they’ll be a bit like you and me, but… he might say yes, just for your piece of mind.”

Phil’s gaze returned to the crown, to the three little gemstones in the front, and he nodded slightly. 

Sapnap was looking at him. He’d been looking at him for a while, but hadn't approached Dream yet so the other man just tried to ignore him for a little bit until Sapnap decided what exactly it was he wanted. Ignorance was bliss, according to Techno, and if he ignored him for long enough then he could go without knowing what was on Sapnap’s mind for long enough too. George probably would have told him to be polite and ask, but Techno’s statement was more fun to say. 

Dream’s hands were cold, and for once he didn't fight it, instead letting Bad test all the different rings and bracelets he had found or made on him because, according to Bad, he ‘had a nice bone structure’. Dream wasn't even sure if he had bones, and yet he held the hands out anyway, long, cold fingers and all. 

“And this one,” Bad said, “is supposed to protect you from the heat, since it has a sapphire in it. It makes you feel cold!” 

But before Dream could ask to not try that ring on, Sapnap decided that it was time to approach the two of them. 

“Hey guys, uhm, is it cool if I talk to you privately for a minute, Dream?” 

“Oh, yeah,” Dream said as he and Bad pulled off all the jewellery from his hands and wrists, “do you want to go somewhere else?”

“Is my house okay?” Sapnap asked, and Dream nodded, following him to the place in question. 

Moments later they were inside and out of the cold, and Sapnap took the time to remove his gloves and throw them onto the chair near the stove. It was the first time Dream had been inside the other man’s house since that summer, and it was almost exactly the same, aside from a few more chaotic chests, a new door leading to the bedroom on the bottom floor, and a new set of chairs. The very same lanterns hung from the ceiling, lit due to the constant low light in the north-facing house. 

“Do you want a drink or something, Dream?” Sapnap asked, and Dream could tell he was uncomfortable. He wasn't making eye contact, and he almost dropped the spoon he was holding. 

“Only if you’re having one.” 

“I’m going to have that… dandelion ‘coffee’ stuff. Do you want that?”

“Sure.” 

Sapnap set about putting the kettle on the stove and piling some fresh mint leaves into a pair of ceramic cups, he waited for the water to boil. Dream sat down at the table, taking the time to pull the chair beneath the surface rather than sliding in sideways. Sapnap spoke up after a few more awkward seconds. 

“I wanted to say sorry,” Sapnap said and looked over at him for the first time since bringing him in there, “for not trusting you back then.”

Dream waited a moment in case Sapnap wanted to say something more, but Dream ended up saying the next line. “It’s alright. If it makes you feel any better, I don't blame you.”

“You don't?”

“No,” he continued, “If… if something like that were to happen again, maybe with a different group of people, or the same group, I don't know, then I think I’d probably have a similar reaction. You can't really expect everyone to be on board with you when everyone that looks like you wants them dead.” 

Sapnap raised an eyebrow, looking over at Dream with a thoughtful look on his face, but when the kettle began to steam he turned back to the stove and poured the hot water over the granules before leaving them to steep. When he’d done that though, he turned back to Dream. Some of his hairs caught what little light came through the windows, and it looked almost brown instead of black. 

“I hope it won't happen again,” Sapnap said, “whenever it was with that ‘Other-world’ or whatever. And I hope that we can move past this, too.”

“I’m sure we can try,” Dream said and smiled, but when he realised Sapnap couldn't see the smile he pulled the mask off and did it again. Sapnap smiled slightly too. 

“I think it should go here,” Skeppy said, pushing the table filled with his medical books over to the window, “because then I’ll get the light and I can work for longer.”

“Well, I think this should go here instead,” Bad said, moving the table with his small jeweling anvil over to the window as well, “because I want the light too.”

“We can't both have the light,” Skeppy said to him, “it’ll be too cramped for either of us to work.”

“Aww, but Skeppy, think about working side by side, you know, like we used to.” 

Skeppy looked at him, his mask unreadable to near everyone in the world. Everyone but Bad it seemed, as he spoke up again.

“Skeppy…”

“Okay,” Skeppy sighed, “We’ll sit basically on top of one another and get nothing done.”

“Yay!”

“That’s not something to say ‘yay’ at, Bad.”

“Should we get – ? no, there wouldn't be space, or it wouldn't suit it, or… or it’ll clash with the curtains I put up. Uhm,” Ant paused, looking between the window and the stove they’d shoved into the corner. He turned around to Fundy, “what do you think?”

The ‘house’ they had built wasn't the greatest, standing as only two rooms (if a closet counted as a room, although it did have their front door in there too) and having a bed permanently nailed to opposite walls. Ant still had flashbacks to Skeppy shoving their two beds together and then taking up all the space, but Fundy had just raised an eyebrow.

“How about we put it where it fits?”

“Huh?”

“You’re getting worried over nothing, Ant,” he said, walking all three steps to cross the room, “and like you said, we’ll have to move it all when we expand over spring anyway. Might as well just put it anywhere.” 

“I mean,” Ant sighed, “I guess we are both kind of small.”

“I’m not small,” Fundy said immediately, rearing back as if he had been slapped, “I’m taller than you!” 

Ant raised an eyebrow, and Fundy’s ears pressed down against his skull as Ant put a hand out to compare the two of them.

“I’m taller,” he said.

“You are not,” he replied.

Techno put a hoof out to stop Dream on his way to George’s house, and in the afternoon weariness Dream didn't question when the half-druid pulled him aside and behind the trunk of a large spruce tree. He folded his arms, leaning against the wood as he waited for Techno to say something. The way his ears still swung on the side of his head was sweet, Dream thought, and it was almost like when a dog was paying attention in the way they swivelled forward and back. Cute. 

“I need to ask,” Techno said, “What is it like hibernating?”

“You know when you sleep?” Dream asked.

“Yeah?”

“It’s like that.”

Techno snorted, his eyebrows tilting downwards as if Dream hadn't answered the question properly. Maybe he hadn't. He was too sleepy to really care, honestly, and he knew George was waiting for him. Techno was great, but no one else was George. He made sure of it. 

“Just like sleeping? There’s no difference?”

“For a long time.” 

Leaning back, Techno looked at him, and before Dream could say or do anything one hooved hand came and slipped the mask off his face. Dream blinked, reaching forward to take the mask back, but Techno held it further up.

“Why do you wear this?” Techno asked, looking at it as Dream huffed.

“Why do you wear the crown?”

Their eyes met. 

“It’s mine,” he said.

“Not the other-Techno’s?”

A pause.

“Phil has my other one.”

“And George has my other mask.”

Another moment settled between them. Someone dropped something which crashed, and Tommy made a cheer in the distance. Dream pulled the mask from Techno’s hands and reached for the half-druid’s crown, which he lowered his head to let the other tree-person take. 

“So why do you wear it?” Techno asked as Dream admired the white stones in the piece of jewellery.

“It’s mine,” he said, “and I don't remember why. Maybe it’s always just been there, or maybe I happened to find myself wearing it. Are you telling me you intend to remember forever why you put this thing on?”

Dream gave the crown back to the pig, and he took care in avoiding his ears when he put it back on.

“I’m going to try.”

“So why _do_ you wear it?”

Techno looked at him with his unsettling black eyes. The pig had a gaze which both pierced the flesh and soothed the wound it created, like a knife tipped in a numbing balm, but he used it to look Dream up and down. He always seemed taller, but Dream could tell that they were almost the same height. Techno was tonguing his lip, but there was nothing to tongue. Maybe he just enjoyed the taste of his own tusks, since he seemed to do it quite often. 

“My reasoning has changed,” Techno said carefully. 

“And?”

“And I guess I'm finding my new one.”

Dream looked at Techno, but the half-druid avoided his eyes. Carefully, he spoke up. 

“You should stay with someone this winter,” he said, “because it was awful waking up confused and alone. When I was with George, he… he stayed with me, and it was the first time I remember waking up and feeling pleased about it.” 

“And who would I ask?”

Techno said it in a curious way, and Dream had to look him up and down to see the nervous shift of his feet, the way his hooves twitched as his sides and how he still didn't look at Dream directly, but Dream knew enough now to know it wasn't awkwardness from talking to him. He was uncomfortable, as if Techno didn't want to admit or believe something, and he had seen it on Sapnap when he was talking about the person he loved all that time ago. It was crazy to think that so much had happened in that year that Dream was already forgetting the little things, as Ant said he would, but he knew what Techno was implying, silently, but still quite loud. 

“Phil,” he said simply, “or Niki would. Tubbo would say yes if you asked, but his and Tommy’s house is… Yeah. Sapnap would say yes too, but I don't know if he has a bed spare so you might need to move yours, and Fundy mentioned it to Skeppy, who mentioned it to Bad, and Bad said he wouldn't mind having you. But… yeah, ask Phil.”

“You hardly know Phil.

“But you do,” Dream said as if it was the easiest thing in the world, “and I’d be blind or stupid to not notice how much he cares about you, or how much you care about him. Ask Phil. Even after everything, he still loves you.” 

“Two barrels,” Niki said, checking the labels in what was now the storage house, “and one-half barrel of the salted fish. Three crates and a half of the lingonberry jam, two and three-quarter crates of apple and apricot chutney, and there’s the batch of that which Wilbur and Tommy should be finishing up soon, so let’s say four crates and recount, and I think that’s three barrels of elderberry wine at the back.”

Tubbo wrote the list down in a language he called English, but one that no one else could understand because of his handwriting. Niki would have to translate it later, but even with the added effort of having to go through it again it would still save them some time. At least it wasn't Techno’s handwriting. 

“Is the sloe gin in there?” Tubbo asked, “Skeppy said he put in some from his other house but didn't say how much.” 

“It seems,” Niki said, climbing over another crate of pickles, “that he did. Two barrels, wait– one and a bit. This one’s been tapped already.” 

“Is that everything?” Tubbo asked, looking at his list, which when spoken aloud could summon the old gods. 

“I think so. Oh, there’s the apples, but they’re going to be used soon, so I wouldn't take note of them.” 

“Alright-y,” he said and folded over the papers so that they were all in a neat pile, “What are you doing now?”

“I might make more bread,” she said, taking the list and putting it in her coat. 

It was really Wilbur’s old coat, one in a light blue material which he said went well with her hair. Tubbo eyed the coat, then her hat which was Wilbur’s too at a time that seemed eons ago, and asked, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah?” she asked, looking over to him, “Why?”

“Just… with winter, and George said that the tree-people hibernate, so Wilbur will be too, right?”

Niki blinked, looking away towards the rest of the storage room for a moment before answering, “yeah. He will be. Uhm.”

“Are you okay?” Tubbo asked again, pulling himself up to sit on one of the barrels of wine and Niki sat next to him on a crate, “it feels like a lot of stuff has been happening around us rather than directly to us, but it still affects us, you know?” 

“Yeah, I… I’m scared. I’m saddened by it too. I don't want to spend a whole winter alone in that house, or a whole winter without Wilbur, but… But there’s nothing I can really do about it, if you understand me? It’s almost hopeless.” 

“I get that,” Tubbo said, “Tommy will be asleep too, so maybe… maybe me and Phil, or you and I can do stuff together? Fundy said he’d teach me to shoot, but… It would be nice if we could all help one another out.”

Niki put her hand on his shoulder and pulled him in for a hug, letting him put his head on her shoulder. “Let’s make bread, okay?” she said, “You can make those little hedgehog buns, or the ones that look like frogs with the raisin eyes, and we can bring some to Phil, even though he doesn't like raisins and force him to try them anyway. Maybe he can take you fishing, or flying or something. Would you like that?”

“Fishing? The river is frozen.”

She tisked at him. “Ice fishing,” she said, “It’s unbelievable that you don't know this. Phil will definitely need to teach you.”

“Will Wilbur just be in your house then?”

“I’ll put him to bed and give him that embarrassing teddy bear of his to hold and I’ll show you,” Niki promised, “It’s the least he can do when he’s only being a hot water bottle all winter.” 

“It’s only temporary.”

“It still hurts.”

George rubbed his face into Dream’s chest. Even though the bed was more than a single, it still felt a little too small when George got like this, as he had since Dream and the rest of them had gotten back from their excursion eastwards. As the day decayed outside, the stove in the corner was having to pump out more light and heat to keep the room tolerable, but even with the added heat from the day the snow on the window panes hadn't melted completely. They were due for more snow, it seemed, and since Techno had said it then it would be so. 

“I’ll be here,” Dream said, “Regardless of what happens or who you meet or what you do, I’ll be here. Not dead, just dormant.” 

“I’ll still miss you, though,” George wasn't looking at him, and Dream just closed his eyes, “I feel like we’ve only just managed to reach, I don't know if ‘normality’ is the word, but…”

“I know what you mean, but it just means spring will be all the sweeter.” 

“And…”

George did look up at Dream then, their eyes meeting for what felt like the first time in forever, and with no mask or glasses to obscure them. George didn't seem to mind his eyes, even if Dream knew that they were not as warm or soft as George’s own, and he still smiled in a way that he hoped was reassuring for the other man. 

“What happens after?” George asked quietly, as if speaking too loudly would break the world in half, as if Dream was a wild animal or made of glass. 

“I wake up.”

“No, but…”

Another pause. If Dream had ears like Techno’s or Fundy’s, he thought, then they would have swivelled to listen closer. He was curious, admittedly it was probably incorrect of him to be so interested when George was obviously upset about something, and he still rubbed his hand up George’s back in what he hoped was soothing. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Dream asked, “I don't mind if you do or don't.”

“What happens when I get older?” George asked quietly, “Dying and coming back to life doesn't scare me, I've done it before and I’ll probably do it again, but… but when the body quits I don't come back. I’m scared for you.”

He sighed. 

“George, I… It’s difficult to explain all the feelings I have at the best of times, so, just, hear me out?”

The sun had officially set at that point, and George pushed Dream gently backwards onto the covers of their bed. The cold nipped at their toes, but George remained silent and let Dream say his piece. 

“I don't know how old I am,” Dream began, “And I don't know how old I'll become. I’ve probably seen others die, and honestly, I've probably had this conversation with them, too. It’s familiar, somehow, to talk about this. But… I think there’s something great about me being able to be here with you until– well, until whatever happens. I can't promise to remember you, because I don't even remember myself, but I can promise to be here with you for as long as it takes, for as long as I am alive at the same time as you, and for as long as anyone else here.”

“I don't want to die and leave you behind,” George whispered. 

Dream put a hand in his hair, his lips in his hair, and kept talking. 

“I know,” Dream said, “But I don't want you to mourn me when I’m still alive, and I don't want to mourn you before you’re even gone. So let’s…” he paused. The sun had gone now and Dream felt tired. 

“Let’s just stay here and enjoy it while we can. I’ll love you for as long as you live.”

George sighed, like all of the air inside his body was suddenly being let out all at once. He murmured, his lips catching on Dream’s shirt, “I’m still allowed to miss you.”

“I never said you couldn't. I’m glad I met you, and I intend to miss you, too.” 

“Me too.”

“It’s only temporary, right?” Tommy said, voice filled with a kind of half agony, half hope.

Phil just sighed though, his arm in plaster and smiling anyway as he held the three of them close. 

Wilbur’s hair had gone a dark blonde. The circles under his eyes were darker than usual from the stress of it all and his once deep-blue coat was more of a light cyan colour now. While Wilbur would always be the best dressed of them all – he was their seamster, after all – he looked like he needed a long sleep after the hell Techno, Tommy and Tubbo had put him through. His skin was pale too, but the grain of his wooden skin was not deep enough to be obvious. Aside from the black eyes all the tree-people seemed to have in winter, he looked almost like his normal self.

Tommy looked similar to Wilbur but calmer. He was tired in a sleepy way, his coat which Wilbur had made him going from a dark denim to a faded blue colour, and he seemed genuinely pleased with the idea of having winter off to sleep and do nothing. He always hated working in winter, and if the tragedy of how they became tree-people hadn’t been so deep, Phil probably could have expected Tommy to become a tree-person purely for the sake of missing the season.

Techno was always better at hiding his feelings, but Phil still knew him in a way that no one else ever might, and he saw the pig’s emotions for what they were. Resignment. Techno was obviously not pleased with the idea of missing out, but he accepted it in the way any fighter or guard accepted their unwanted duty – with nobility and grace. The crown on his head (made from some kind of iron or golden wood, and as tough as the material too) shone in the evening light. 

Dream had said it would be that night. There was only so much time. 

“I’m still allowed to miss you,” he said, “but at least it will keep you out of trouble.” 

“Yeah, Techno,” Wilbur said, “you can't run off this time.”

“Oh no. My plan has been foiled.”

“Jokes aside,” Phil said, “I'll miss you. I’ll really fucking miss you all, and I can't wait to see you awake in spring with the biggest bed heads of all time.” 

Wilbur huffed, but Tommy just laughed. Techno smirked too. 

“Is this it, then?” Wilbur asked. 

“I think it is.” 

Phil opened his arms, and they all came into them again like a bird collecting its chicks. He pulled them closer. 

“Thank you, Phil,” Wilbur said, “and we’ll miss you too.”

Eventually, after the sun had set and they were all standing in the snow, they drew back from the embrace and looked at one another. Phil’s eyes were red. Tommy was sniffling, and Techno couldn't make eye contact. Wilbur didn't hold back tears. 

“I love you guys,” Phil said again, “You’ll always be my sons, and I’ll always love you all. But I’m cold as shit and I’m going to bed.”

The others laughed, and even Techno chuckled, and eventually they departed, with Tommy and Wilbur heading towards the rest of the settlement and Phil and Techno taking the endless feeling path back to their houses on the far side of the settlement. Quiet came over them. Techno and Phil both seemed to agree to stop without words, and they looked at one another. 

“I know this is last minute,” Phil said, “But do you want to hide out this winter at mine? It’ll save heating two houses, and I can… I can check up on you.”

Techno looked at the other man, at his broken arm and the golden crown still on his stupid hat. He looked at the dark blue sky beyond the spice trees, at the thin curve of the moon behind them, and at the gentle snow starting to fall between each sparse branch, and he thought about how this winter he wouldn't be able to help shovel the snow when Fundy became too weak to do it. He thought about how he wouldn't be able to help Wilbur search for sheep, or help Tommy and Tubbo stay awake in the day when it was too cold to work. He thought about how he wouldn't be able to make concoction-like soups with Niki out of anything they could find, and how he couldn't go ice fishing with Phil. He wouldn't be able to experience the first rain in spring. 

But Phil was right there. He was there and he was holding out his hand like he didn't realise that he was offering Techno the universe and more. 

Techno put his own in Phil’s.

“Guide my hand,” Techno said to him, “I’d love nothing more.”

And so, in the twilight at the end of the autumn, Techno followed Phil out of the snow. 

The man was always known for the kindness that no one could ever hope of returning, and that was okay. Phil just liked being kind and expected nothing back, but little did Techno know that this was all Phil wanted. All he wanted was for him to be safe. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue tonight or tomorrow night - depends on how things go for me this evening. Enjoy this one, let me know what you think of the resolution!


	19. Epilogue: Something Else is Out There

The world was covered in ice. With no wind and clear skies, the river was as cold as any other part of the landscape, and the little windbreak of snow Phil set up protected them from sunburn, which despite George’s insistence, was fully possible in this sort of weather. The berries which hadn't been picked or hadn't dropped to the floor looked like jewels in the snow, and as the rosehips grew rosier they stood out brightly among the ice. Tubbo couldn't help but fill his pockets, even if they were indelible most of the time they were still a good thing to keep around. 

But now, sitting around a hole in the ice, Tubbo could spend a little while thinking about the world with Phil.

“Thank you for the coat,” Tubbo said, pulling it tighter around him. It was a similar shade of green to Phil’s own, just shorter and with a hood, and while Phil’s own was thinner he’d prioritised giving the better one to the younger man.

“It’s no problem,” Phil said, pushing the line through his fishing rod before he handed it over to Tubbo. He set about doing his own, threading the string through one more time. “Since the others are asleep all my spoiling is going on to you. Are you sure you can handle that?”

Tubbo smiled and nodded, already pleased to be with Phil. Their house was awfully quiet when only he was awake. Niki had asked if Tubbo wanted to move Tommy over to her house so that she wouldn't be alone too, and even though he felt like he was betraying their own little house which they had built together, Tubbo said that he’d think about it. 

So spending his free time (and he had an awful lot of it, now that the nights were drawing in) with the older man gave him more to think about other than the hollowed pit feeling which had been inside him for the past week or so. The cold was easier to forget when he could put his hands in someone else's and let them drag him along, even if the other person wasn't Tommy anymore, but Phil’s hands were always more careful, anyway. 

“Now,” Phil said softly when he’d finished threading the line, “we need to be quiet to not scare the fish, alright? So we can still talk, just quietly.”

“Uh-huh,” Tubbo said, shifting from side to side on the stool.

“The problem with ice fishing is that there’s still a current under the surface of the water, even if we can see it, you know? So we need to make sure the two lines don't get tangled by accident.” 

“What happens if they do?”

“If they do then we spend ages trying to pull them apart,” Phil said and dropped his line into the watery pool of darkness, “and if there’s a fish on the other end then it gets dizzy because they’ll probably be wrapped up in it. Worse comes to worse, we’ll have to cut the lines and start over, but we won't want that to happen, since it takes so long to make the line in the first place, you know?”

Tubbo stared down at the hole and held the fishing rod above it too, letting the line sink into the water until he could no longer see the hook. While he couldn't actually see the water moving beneath the surface, the thought of it was enough for him to not test the thickness of the ice. If he went under it and was swept away, that would be it. It was interesting thinking about all the stuff that happened behind the scenes, when he wasn't looking or where none of them could see. The glacial-temperature water was a good example. The fish didn't freeze with the river in winter. They were still down there in the icy depths, doing their own thing, keeping their own world ticking. How did animals that seemed to do so little still seem to be so busy? Although, admittedly Tubbo couldn't watch them for long enough to see if they were actually doing something important, especially since they hid under the pebbles and rocks at the bottom so often. 

“You’re not too cold, are you?” Phil asked quietly.

“No, I’m alright,” Tubbo said, “My fingers are a little cold from getting down here, but they’ll warm up.”

“Okay, but just… yeah. Let me know.” 

What went unsaid Tubbo knew already. Frostbite always loomed as an ugly possibility in these worlds, and Phil always made sure to lecture them all on the signs, and prevention, and about staying close enough to camp that they could return if they began to lose feeling in their limbs. He told them what to do if they noticed the symptoms: heat water on the stove or a fire, not too hot or it would hurt, and submerge the affected area, then keep it warm. Tubbo remembered when Phil hadn't listened to his own advice and got hypothermia up on a mountain top somewhere in an old world, and how the rest of the group scolded and lectured him. But the group had fallen silent when he took off his shoes and two of his toes were black. 

Wilbur especially would have been lost without Phil, and when Phil lost those two toes Wilbur insisted on staying with him throughout his recovery, going so far as to be Phil’s personal hot water bottle (much to the man’s frustration). Tubbo swallowed. One day Wilbur would lose Phil, and one day the rest of them would too. 

Life was a cruel, startling concept that often felt half thought through. But it was also one of mystery, of unimaginable ideas and of great wonders that only moving forward would ensure that they saw. 

He remembered the lecture on frostbite as though it was a distant dream, and he tucked his chin to his chest. He wasn't shivering yet, but when it began he’d need to remember that it had happened. If it stopped and he forgot it had started in the first place then there would be problems soon on the horizon, but that horizon hadn't reached them yet, and he waited still. 

So sitting over their pool, a dark spot in a world of white, they stared down at their lines and tried not to let them cross, because if they did then it would be a pain trying to detangle them. Sometimes they seemed to be drawn together, as if the lines were magnetic, and they’d have to detangle them regardless of how much they tried to keep them apart, but generally it was easier just to keep them separate for as long as possible.

It would save them all the hassle. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo-hoo! It's done! Thank you, thank you, thank you so much for reading!!! 
> 
> I really hope that you all enjoyed it, and I've been really loving all the comments and whatnot that have been left on the work so far. This has been my most ambitious work ever, so getting feedback and various wonderful words has been a blessing. I truly hope that all of you lovely people looked forward to this works completion and are satisfied with the ending. Regardless of whether or not you are, please let me know what you think, for feedback really keeps me going. 
> 
> Also, I'm aware that since this is a bit of an 'off the wall' work (aka, it's weird), some people may still have questions about the work. If you leave comments with questions, I'll try to reply to them despite the crippling anxiety of actual human interaction. Some questions may be answered within the text itself, so if you enjoyed it enough, it might be worth a second read through. 
> 
> I also went full 'English Student' mode and wrote up a 'thoughts I had about the piece', which I'll link here. It's quite dense, but I reference multiple brilliant works which have inspired me and give links to them, along with what I think I would change if I could go back in time and write 'Two Worlds' as if I knew it was going to be a series.   
> You can find it here:   
> https://turtle-ier.tumblr.com/post/636688864753385472/hey-this-is-a-secret-link-so-dont-click-read
> 
> Once more, thank you, goodbye, and good luck!

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, I have written 37,000 words within 17 days.  
> That is not a joke.  
> Ice Bridge will be updated in parts as I edit it, but please don't expect an update every day. I'm aiming to put up a page every other day (aka, once every two days) so that I have time to make adjustments as I go. However, the updates will be slower in the beginning as I iron out the bigger issues.  
> This has been an incredibly challenging, time consuming and heartbreaking thing to write, and it has over taken the second part in this series as the longest thing I have ever written. it will also mark the point where I have written over 200,000 words within a year. What started off as a Don't Stare/Long Dark parody has become a monolith, a castle, and a novel all in one.  
> Comments, Kudos and Bookmarks are my main motivators when it comes to writing, and Archipelago had a monumental response, one that I have never had before for a piece of my writing, and so thank you all so much for reading the series so far. I adore you all.  
> If you wish to see more of this, please subscribe to the work or bookmark it, read the other ones in this series and check out my other series 'Dream Team AUs' which is a collection of one-shots. My favourite piece of writing ever, 'Bring Back Pluto' has just past 400 kudos. It's worth the time, I promise. 
> 
> I don't support the shipping of real life people, which is why this piece is set in an AU based more so on their personas rather than them as irl people. As far as I'm currently aware, Dream, George and all the others included in this fanfic are fine with fanfiction being written about them at this time, but if shipping content is considered incorrect by the creators in the future, or just fanfiction at all, this work will be deleted. The last thing I want to do is offend them or make them uncomfortable.
> 
> Please, DO NOT share any of my works with the CCs. 
> 
> Find me on Tumblr: @turtle-ier  
> Find me on Twitter: @Turtle_ier 
> 
> Thank you again! Stay safe!


End file.
